Aye.

Poetry truly is the language of God; it is beautiful, infinitely packed with meaning, constantly revealing new things the more we read it. Words are so powerful, yet we underestimate words’ impact and the weight they carry. Perhaps this is cliche, but I believe it’s biblical, for John said “In the beginning was the Word.” I’ve been reading through John recently, and it just fascinates me that for whatever mysterious, marvelous reason, Jesus is specifically called the Word. From the short life I’ve lived, I have some how wound up at the conclusion that words are of utmost importance--like they were meant to be a sort of extension of the soul. So a poem, a composition of many words, is in a way divine because it contains so much complexity and a sense of immortality.

However complex these poems may seem upon the first read, I find the more we delve into them the deeper they resonate with something within me.

For I have learned

To look on nature, not as in the hour

Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes

The still, sad music of humanity,

Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power

To chasten and subdue.

There’s more to understanding this life than just mere logic and formulated responses. Sometimes understanding comes in the form of something much darker and far more intricate. I think the Romantics got that because they knew the nature of the soul. The soul is critical. Why is it that we neglect it?

So basically, everything we’ve been talking about in class for the last few days, my soul gives a hearty ‘Aye!’ to.

I commented on Kelsey Parrish's blog about the Nightingale.