All too often you might find that crude language poses to much vageries to accurately describe what you're feeling, a certain situation, or life in general. Much of what we experience in our lifetimes might give rise to perceptions and thoughts too multilayered or complex for the mundane strokes of collequial conversation.
As an amateur poet myself I view this artform as a shadow asking a thought to dance
becoming brighter with each step. A higher way of describing what's around us which may resonate even more than putting it in concise factual terms.
Now what I'm saying isn't that factuality or concise description is a bad thing. Absolutely not, but merely in some circumstances, insufficient. Poetry, takes meaning, and elevates it into eloquent thought. It is a wonderful method of conveying a message, tell a story or reveal truths.
Some of my favorite poetic authors include Edgar Allan Poe, and his longest literary symposium, The Raven, where he brings to life the descent into madness and man's relationship with divine authority, as well as William Blake and his poem, "Sleep sleep beauty bright."
Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest.
O! the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break,
From thy cheek and from thy eye,
O'er the youthful harvests nigh.
Infant wiles and infant smiles
Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.
It's like a song of the mind's olympian apex when dealing with the world. Poems like these can hold many meanings, can be interpreted in different ways or simply enjoyed for its eloquence.
It takes intuitive, intellect, instinct, proclivity for imagination and philosophy to author good poetry. It is not something you throw together half-heartedly in accordance with some traditional stanzas and genres. Such attitudes robs poetry of it's purpose and point.
This isn't a rant about how people should adore poetry and not doing so is incompetent. I just wish to share my reasons for liking it so much and why it isn't just an old pasttime or eighteenth century noblemen.
Finally, I'll include a piece I wrote myself. I am by no means an expert nor do I consider myself gifted, but I genuienly enjoy writing short pieces about reflections, thoughts and opinions I have on several subjects.
"Why do we not love the night
That with its pure, alluring light
Awes your heart and brandishes her might
Singing its archaic songs, a dalliance, resting in plain sight
You do not see the face of the sun
For it adorns its crown so blinding bright
The sun will veil and burn your path
The moon will quench such wanton wrath
So live with me through the chatoyant stars
Imbue us with the becoming night"