Poetry is the language of the soul and the vocal expression of the inner spirit. It is pure. It is clean. It is energizing and invigorating. Like caviar, it is an acquired taste that is only for those that are enlightened and sophisticated enough to appreciate it.

That is why it thrives and is revered in only the most advanced of cultures. Essentially it is about passion: the passion to love, to fight, to survive, to overcome and to excel.
It also provides a veritable channel for the innocent expression of pain and joy. It is the most perfect art. It is beauty personified. It touches the very fibre of our being. It takes us to a higher realm where angels dwell and where fairies and nymphs make merry.

It gives us a reason to live and cause for hope. It is the oldest, the most refined and the most advanced form of prose and for centuries it has been stirring the deepest emotions in mankind.
From the ancient script of the ”Epic Of Gilgamesh” to the words of Homer in the ”Iliyad”. From Tennyson’s ”Charge Of The Light Brigade” to ”Where Angels Beckon”, ”She Was Tranquility”, ”Ayo Mi: The One That Brings Me Joy” and ”The Passion That Bleeds” by yours truly. From the biblical ”Songs of Solomon” to Coleridge’s ”The Rime of The Ancient Marina”. From the deific ”Psalms of David” to Yeats’ ”Wild Swans At Coole”.

From Browning’s ”How Do I Love Thee” to Sexton’s ”The Truth The Dead Know’. From Longfellow’s ”The Songs Of Hiawatha” to Wordsworth’s ”Daffodils”. I love poetry. I love the power of poetic prose. I love the rhythm of the rhyme and I will do so till the day that I die.