A terrible rumor is being spread that poetry is almost dead. That rhymes & gentler times cannot sustain our extrinsic soul. Blasphemy & hogwash -- 'tis just a rumor. Poems make us. Poems break us. They come alive in all of us through the splintered crack. Stealing our eyes away from all those that lack. Beauty can be extreme. It can be hard & mean. It can be gentle & kind or simple & entwined. All the same...it's still beauty.
My candle burns at both ends; / It will not last the night; / But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends – / It gives a lovely light!. Edna St. Vincent Millay (Click for article: E. St. V. M.: The Poet as Rock Star - The Boston Globe)