That's right. I've never really been a fan of poetry as a medium. I think I've always viewed it as something of an inferior medium, which isn't really surprising given my obsession with plot arcs. I will always prefer the infinite effability of prose.
In my experience, most amateur poetry is only meaningful to it's author. Take for example this piece that I wrote on January 30, 2012, while on the road.
Aren't we all just pendulums swinging
Back and forth through the naked possibility
Today I am comfortable abroad
But one swing will render me a foreigner in the home of my father
I hope for the rhythm of our arcs to coincide with one another
Just one collision and the bliss of subsequent entanglement
Yet only a matter of time will find our lines too complicated
And the only way out will be to cut the ties
Then what do we have left?
Then what are we?
So what in the heck does that even mean? You tell me. And while you're at it, you should try to convince me that poetry is somehow equal in power to prose.
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