Poetry

“With me, poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.- Edgar Allen Poe

Today, I was asked what a poem is. I began to reply, "Why, that's easy! A poem is..." I found I couldn't finish my sentence. A poem. What is it? Its technical definition gives it no justice. "A piece of literature written in meter; verse." It's so much more. It's passion on paper, captured music, a prayer, a wish.
I have come to define poetry as purified language. Each word is carefully selected to have perfect rhythm, rhyme, alliteration, and purpose. The English language has hundreds of thousands of words, yet an average educated person only knows about 20,000 words and uses only about 2,000 words in a week. So much expression is left untouched. In Shakespeare's work, the longest word he used was "honorificabilitudinitatibus", which is defined as "the state of being able to achieve honours". I often feel that we are evolving backwards, resorting to primordial grunts.
Poetry touches the harmony inside all of us, and captures beautiful slivers of language and thought. It is the hole in ignorance, allowing knowledge and beauty to flow freely. In today's world, there are few people who can recite famous poetry. Read! Expand! Truly, what did the Robert Frost's woods represent? What did Edgar Allen Poe's raven mean? Secrets remain locked in the beauty of forgotten words! I leave you with one of my favorite poems, written by Langston Hughes.

Dreams
Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die,
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams,
For when dreams go,
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.