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Poetry is so... Interest?

As interesting as...

That?

P/s: Who ever said you should ONLY post pretty pictures?

Okay. So this photo isn't exactly interesting. Instead, it's more like completely ridiculous? Laugh DAMNIT! I'm trying to entertain you here! LoLx~

Anyway...

I'd like to think that poetry is a form of art in which language is used for its aesthetic and evocative qualities in addition to its ostensible meaning.

The form of poetry may be written independently, as discrete poems, or may occur in conjunction with other arts, as in poetic drama, hymns or lyrics.

*Blah, blah, blah*

Okay. Question time!

How long has it been since I last shared something somewhat meaningful?

Hmmm... Come to think of it, I would think along the lines of... Never? ;x

Oh well, since I've never actually shared anything "worthy" with you guys and/or girls. Let me share with you a "poem" my friend (aka colleague) wrote recently...

A simple prose for a faceless dream

It is never easy to admit that you can’t have everything. To admit that although you have just survived what you thought was your greatest loss, now you realize that the greatest loss is that one you can never have. The one thing that you can never lose but neither can it be truly yours.

It is also this impending doom that gives you the urge to treat every moment as your last... to give your all and be always at your best. Everything that is given to you is all taken with great pleasure and sincere gratitude and humility.

Every shared conversation, every moment, even petty quarrels are all committed to memory. Stored in the special room in your consciousness where no one else will be able to reach, where only you have the possibility of opening. So that in nights of solitude and you sit and contemplate on your life you are able to go back to that special place, and even just inside your head, you relieve the experience. Suddenly you’re in a place where you felt unimaginable happiness. You are home.

To remember the laughter, the joy, the frustration, the fleeting glimpse of something wonderful which all the more makes the memories more enigmatic. For what is more beautiful than the unknown? What is more beautiful than to feel so strongly about an idea, and look into another soul’s eye and dream of the realization of that idea. It is such a bitter sweet feeling to want something so bad, and at the same time do everything in your will power not to let yourself have even a part of what you truly desire.

An act of sacrifice and self incrimination for every action taken that will confirm your love. Every assurance must be taken with doubt. It is one of the hardest things in the world. And nobody should be able to take part on this seemingly masochistic endeavor. Then why partake, one might ask? For although fate is something that is hard to believe, it might actually be the only reason for loving someone even before you have the consciousness to recognize it in its true form. And let it haunt you for the rest of you life.

There is no conclusion, not even a thesis. You are left to where you started. Comparable to that of a new born child, pure and simple. But then you stop thinking, and finally you understand. There is nothing to comprehend.

There lies the possibility of harboring an unknown, and finding out about it after decades of not knowing. Decades of only feeling something to be there, something beautiful you’re not sure if you have the right to grasp. The sad part is, you still understand nothing. You are still lost. Unsure. Still enveloped by darkness. And you refuse to falter, you decide to take it as a miracle of finding something that might not even be there. But you believe to be...

Let me know how you feel after reading it?

Enjoy!