No one anymore knows
the difference between poetry and prose.
Prose is OK.
I write some most every day.
Poetry has meter, rhythm and rhyme.
Prose can wander anywhere at anytime.
Alliteration, symbolism, metaphor, simile,
is poetry’s connection from you to me.
Prose is the antonym, the rebel source.
It has no path. It charts no course.
Though both evoke an emotional response.
Poetry relies on assonance.
Prose tells its tale with drunken meandering.
Poetry states its case without philandering.
Poetry evokes and imagines in verse.
Prose tells a story in language much worse.
“Just tell me a story without all the fluff.
I don’t need all of that flowery stuff!”
Indeed, to be prosaic is to speak straight away.
No colorful words to get in the way.
And what of the Sonnet? The Haiku? The Limerick?
Odes? Palindromes? Ballads? Acrostics?
How do these fit? They’re far more complex.
Are they here as a challenge or just for effect?
Whatever the reason we should always recall,
that language is best as a story, after all.
Whether Diamante or Quatrain, Free verse or Rhyme,
the world needs poetry from time to time.
