In math we study

formulas; we tattoo the symbols into our minds and

assign a value accordingly. They tell us that all

Curves and corresponding tangents can be derived, that the 

Beauty of the Greek alphabet can be deduced to a numbers, and that

Solids have definite volumes because their dimensions say it must be so.

However,

Poetry tells us that some things are greater than simply the

Sum of their parts; some verses are worth the

Ripping, burning, peeling, aching

Pain of having them etched in ink onto virgin flesh. 

Words are expressions of emotions, and they tell us all that

We are human: we are born with

Curves that occur naturally, from clavicle to sternum to hip to knee and from knee to ankle. Our

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

As those Greeks used to say (the ones whose language appear on calculator buttons).

What is solid is revealed by the lustrous secrets we hide in

Our writing--these are the meanings that we furrow our brows in frustration over,

The ones that we hold in our 

Hearts and desperately hope to communicate to others--so that

Maybe, just maybe someone somewhere will

Finally appreciate the brilliance of true understanding.

Poetry is a window

Without polish, without dimensions

Looking out onto our greatest fantasies and looking in 

On what lies deep in our souls.