A teacher once told me

 

Poetry is emotion distilled

 

It’s a feeling

Run through the filter of a pencil

 

The impossibly abstract

Manifested into mere words

On a page

 

It’s a vessel

Ferrying a reader across the seas of space and time

To a sensation someone set in stone

With nothing but a stylus

 

It’s written when a person

A soul

A human

Pops their wrists and lets the painting paint itself

Tides of red turning to vibrant greens, blues, and golds

Until an image comes to life.

 

From that moment,

It becomes a portal

Framed in words

To a different state of being

 

It’s driving out on a highway,

Watching as the world wraps over the horizon

Maybe there’s an old barn out there,

In the field

 

The sun’s shining.

The air is clear

The sky is milky blue

And your music’s playing

 

It’s that feeling,

You know what I’m saying?

 

Or it’s the way your heart stops when you see him

You look away, saying “I’ve got something to do”

But you knew you’d look back anyway

 

Because you felt

No

You were different

That moment your eyes met hers

As if a gaze could serve a shot of morphine to the soul.

 

It’s also the evenings spent

Trying to work

But being distracted

Not by what is there

But by what isn’t.

 

You reach for a phone,

pen and paper, anything.

Hoping to fill their spot,

Knowing it’s not enough

To dispel the all-encompassing feeling

Of being all alone.

 

It’s the crushing feeling

Creeping up your spine

Grabbing your neck

Choking you

 

The air wheezing out

You want to scream

But the wind is worn

 

You’re at your weakest,

Lacking the strength to call for help

It’s a sinking

Slowly

Into night

 

And it's those moments
When burning boiling blood
Bubbles up your throat
And pops in a scream
Why? How?

The stress is mounting
You can't sit still
Because you're filled with that
Burning boiling bubbling blood.
Just barely oozing out through held fists
Clenched teeth
And silent curses.

 

But it’s also when the skies clear

Your breath slows.

You know you’ve done it.

Won the battles that needed to be won

 

Your mark is made

You can rest easy

 

Poetry is all that.

It’s a gateway to the infinite.

It teaches us that what we are is by choice

And provides an escape to anything.

 

That’s because it’s not just emotion distilled.

It’s a moment saved

A story written

And a life lived.