The Poet’s Place in a World of Chaos

The world in chaos –
The poet is creating on the verge and in the middle of it.
Imaginings inscribed of nature, copulation, and death –
Noted and filled with inspired air.
Lifted air to lungs for voice to enunciate all that is crucial or joyous to their own fathoming.
Poets of the fifth and sixth sense, trying to sense an intermediate expression that might show them through their clouded understandings of their times and lives.
Poetry in a chaotic world is like penance paid back gladly to unknown teachers. Teachers who seem to pass on their mysteries to waiting poets, before these poets can express what their souls cry out for in needed expressions.
The leaders of our chaotic world cannot show us universal and virtuous conduct while they start preemptive wars to manipulate us for their limitless needs.
The poet’s lament is that the rules of aged and yellowed religious documents are not practiced by the oligarchies and megalomaniacs. Dictatorial politics are de rigueur, leaving the poet bereft of the bliss and understanding they seek.
And so, to thought and paper they venture to transport themselves past an early death of spirit, mind and body. Their quiet pursuits, seemingly at times, a most lonely journey without road signs.
Poetry is not always with clear direction, but symbols and metaphors appear to direct their creative traffic at their writing junctures.
Symbols might create illumined moments for a poet’s grieving or joy.
That bliss of joining a universe where poetic expression is still pure within a joined realm of inner and outer atmosphere.
Poetry is omniscient.
If not so, to you…  I can say –
Man without poetry would surely have perished.
And only then,
Only then
Would poetry not have been necessary.