When I look at poetry, I can never help
but notice how each line is forcibly unique,
and the traditional ways of dancing just
do not apply. The leaps are weak, and
the shoes have become worn; no longer
can one prance elegantly without great
difficulty. Poetry is still fading, yet people
are unaware, and the largest, most important
concept is completely absent; rhyming. The
skill has been rotting away, uncared for by
modern poets, and I must resurrect it, with
the talent I have acquired through great
curiosity and power, held deep within my
mind. Still fading are the ways of
excellence, of true beauty and rhythm
and sense. Now, poetry is filled with
giant words that fancy reader’s eyes,
but ’tis not poetry, just words. I
could explicate the verve of my cosmic mind,
but that would be, not poetry, but an
essay. I am not here to tell, I am here
to show. Yes, I would like to read a poem
with a certain rhythm and sequence that is
enjoyable and comprehensible. My eyes hate
the sight of gibberish thrown together,
on different lines, with no meaning. This,
even this is torture for me to write because
of the absence of poetry. But one could
still say, because of the way society is
today, that what I’m throwing together
here is poetry, and that is not okay. As
I close, I emphasize that poetry is a talent,
not a job, and only those who are truly
understanding and passionate will know
my current place. Still fading is poetry, it
is not thriving like the past, like when poets
made words last within you, and it wasn’t just
a quote, or a story in five lines, it was an entire
song that spoke with the soul. There was more
to poetry then than there is now, and call me
what you want, but it is still fading, and I am
still waiting.