Metaphors In Runic, Part V
Having spent most of the day reading the poetry of my favourite bloggers, it suddenly occured to me one of the reasons poetry is so special.
I thought to myself, it masks age. Then I realised it does the opposite.
Poetry takes down the walls people build up around their emotions, brick by brick, patiently revealing the person that’s been trapped inside.
It’s a bit like when somebody takes a picture of you without you seeing, and when they show it to you you’re like, “Is that me!?” – and you’re amazed because you don’t look bad: you just don’t look like you.
Maybe this is why I love it so much. I am constantly seeking vulnerability, wondering what people are thinking.
I think we are all denied simple truths; and since, to my knowledge at least, nobody on this earth can mind read, we will continue to be denied them throughout our lives. Honest people are diamonds in the rough, but how can we truly know the extent of their honesty?
Truth is an elusive thing.
Yet with every poem I read, I see it, a priceless diamond with a thousand facets, throwing out rainbows like the sun throws out light: selflessly.
This brings more precious motivation, so I’ll be carrying this notebook around all day, waiting for inspiration to strike.