First blog post: Poetry Comes from the Soul

Hiya! The name is Sora and I am a poet. Or an amateur one at least.

Now what to talk about, I could give you some advice about life and how stressful it can be. But that it’s all worth it in the end (or should it be the beginning of new beginnings)? Actually, I just got an idea. Allow me, to tell you, my fellow wonderful and insane writers, poets, and other literal arts talented people as well as not, about how I view poetry.

Poetry isn’t a strange mixture of words that are bunched together to rhyme. Well, it can be but that’s besides the point. Poetry also isn’t something that can be understood quickly. Perhaps the surface explanation or view could be understood that quickly but there is so much more underneath. It isn’t merely whether the words sound nice or whether it expresses a cause. Poetry cannot and will not be constrained to a few measly lines and thoughts. To do so would limit unlimited potential. No, poetry is more than any of this.

What is poetry then? Simple.

Poetry is life.

Is that cheesy? Yes, quite so.

Poetry is life. Poetry is the music that flows through you and you find yourself dancing to the beat like you’re a part of the piece. It’s when you’re watching a performance of some literal art and thinking that you’ve stepped into something otherworldly. A spellbinding event that never leaves your soul. It’s when you are the performer, while being the audience, and feeling as if you’re a mixture of all sorts of emotions you can’t describe.

Poetry is the heartbreak of that first true love or the first breakdown you have because life isn’t going your way. It’s love at first sight or hatred at first sight. All the relationships between you and another person put on display and either you’re ashamed by it or don’t give a care what others think. It’s when you’re shouting for joy while skipping in the rain or racing through the streets while watching the scenery fly by.

Poetry is like taking a picture. It speaks a thousand words and then some. It’s capturing that one moment to frame forever because it’s so simple yet not. So beautiful but heartbreaking and soul shattering. That feeling when the illusions you hid behind, fracture and break, under the pressure of reality. It’s silence but pandemonium, fearful but anger, courageous but weakness, and hurt but loved. It’s when you crumble under the weight of life and scream for release. It’s begging for another way out from oppression and suppression. When you fight tooth and nail to find another way, ANY way to survive and live. Not just survive but LIVE. Its the voice of the joyful, broken, loved, hated, humble, cursed, healed, damned, and more. It’s everything and anything you possibly imagine if you set your mind to it.

It’s flying and drowning at the same time. When you feel the walls closing in and when you feel like it’s too open. As if you’re exposed to the world and not. It’s you and this paper-thin surface that you’re writing on with a look of glee, passion, exhaustion, and understanding. When the world seems so clear yet cloudy. It’s like how glass is similar to happiness, when you look at it from different angles some new beauty is shown.

Poetry is a contradiction of itself. Healing and hurting, loving and hating, believing and condemning, and much more. A story, a scene, a mini movie played out, a t.v. show, and etc. It’s people, and the lives they try to love. Their dreams, hopes, and goals. It’s the hero, wanderer, and prisoner. It’s humans at their best and worse, nature at its best and worse, and beings in general at their best and worse.

When people lose hope or when they forget what it means to be human or to understand morals. It’s the gentle comfort or harsh slap from reality that reminds us of the truth. At it’s worse it can be the drive pursuing our blindness instead of aiding in it’s cure. Poetry asks all those difficult questions you want the answer to and don’t want because you know how earth shattering it will be. But, you know deep down that you need this wake up call.

It’s feeling everlasting loneliness and wondering if you’ll ever stop wandering and actually find the road you’re suppose to travel. It’s running and not running from the lies and the truth. It’s promoting a cause and waving that banner high so that people will care and open their eyes from the blindness of every day life. Its a record of history, the future, past, and now. It’s a message that resonates in our souls, minds, and hearts.

It’s you and it’s me. It’s us on this bumpy road wondering where we’re going and never stopping. Either crawling or hopping, running or walking, swimming or drowning, and leaving the other person in the pit of fire or grabbing for that hand reaching out to aid or for aid. It’s us twirling and flying with the stars and moon while bursting with the same fiery as the sun.

Most of all it’s redemption, and being forgiven for our transgressions. Or the flip side of the coin where we are hated and cursed. Yet in the end, poetry at its core is our humanity and legacy set to fly free. Leaving a mark on history that’ll soon fade and may never be remembered because we’re all ghosts according to time. Yet, maybe what matters isn’t whether our legacies last but that they HAPPENED and inspired others when they were remembered. Since everything happens for a reason, whether for good or bad. They determine who we are, who we become, and why we became so.

For poetry in some simplest words is when you’re gazing at the skies and realizing there is someone else out there watching the same skies. That most importantly you’re all connected and never, ever, alone.

~Sora

Written originally on Jan 12, 2015