Poetry is dead –
Killed by the over thinking of it.
Dissecting the once lyrical lines has made them stilted and stagnant.
Delving too deeply for hidden meaning has left me in nothing but a muddy hole.
I hear the authors groan collectively at the overworked interpretations and attempts at intellect.
“Just read it,” they say.
“Take it in; let it become a part of you. Listen to the songs we sang just for the singing of them.”
But in Academia, nothing can be just for the sake of being.
Every particle must be named and discussed and stretched thin.
Math likes it that way. Science thrives on it. History revels in reliving itself.
Even Prose weaves its way through verbal minefields invigorated by the adrenaline rush.
But not Poetry.
Poetry was a free spirit, flitting through our lives,
Leaving us changed, with us not realizing that Poetry had done the changing.
Poetry was trapped by a textbook and bound by a curriculum;
Forced to fit into the categories allotted to it, and
Then, finally, smothered by the weight of it all.
If only Poetry will forgive me!
Forgive me for the part I played in picking it apart until there was nothing left.
Gorging myself on the deliciousness of it until Poetry lost its flavor.
Oh Poetry – you will be sorely missed.