Found myself pondering on the fact or rather the status quo, of going along or cruising in sheer prose, with few stray moments of missing the poetry part. Mebe only after it was snuffed out; with the awakening of few bitter truths, like poetry is never real, and all that it ever does is lead you nowhere.Yes prose is fine, takes you places, gets things done, keeps you grounded and sane and normal. Things under control. Stable. Peaceful.
But, when there is going to be a slight nudge or mebe a swerve, when I will find myself taking a small but sure step into the bylane, to take a sip, taste the titilating, tingling wine, and drench myself with fanciful flights of fantsy, aah..and then at that moment will step in poetry! :) When the moment does hit me, if at all.
glad im able to step out, while i can! relieved to find myself sober, even at the cost of sounding a bit stuffy! And yes eloquent prose is, and can be as beautiful and as real as can be.
