What is poetry?

Many of you will not even bother to read it.
Many of you will like its taste and scent.
Many of you will wonder why.
Many of you will not understand a thing.
Many of you will ask.
No one shall be allowed to answer.


The truth hides in there
Where's that?

It might be your soul.
It might be your heart.
It might be your mind.
It might be your fantasy world.
It might be your way of life.
It might be your family, your environment, or whatever.
It's definitely not me.

What's poetry?
Is it a bunch of words placed together, with a different kind of meaning each time you read it, with a different mood?
Is it music through words?
Is it art?
Is it anything at all?

Who cares?

Everything is poetry.
Everything isn't poetry.

Glory in your assembled mind
divine imitation will guide us through the Scylla and Charybdis.
Those who shall enter take heath... Many have reached this point, many have knocked this door. Few have lived to cross it. Twelve have lived to tell you the story....


Imagine, draw, write, sing, and think, everything's the same.
Nothing is important.
Nothing has any value.
Everything is important.
Everything has value.

Everything is nothing.
And nothing is everything

Everything is one
One is everything.
This one, is immeasurable, has nothing to do with numbers, has nothing to do with counting sheep, or thinking math.

We are gods,
We are demons,
We are angels
We are traitors
We are liars
We are heroes
We are killers
We are messiahs
We are divine interpretations
Diabolic representations
We are everything and nothing


At the same time
I was born
And I died.

Time had no meaning
Space was not assertive

Remember stranger, visitor of this unknown land.
This sword you wear on your belt, is not a weapon.
It is just an ornament.