I don't understand poetry, I don't understand what makes a verse, prose or sonnet come alive.
I don't understand how there is beauty in saying his kiss was a hot and cold summers night or that her smile was as stunning as a bright light in a dark cave.
I can't began to even fathom how Shakespeare spent his entire life divulged in his own minds creations.
It baffles me to the end of the universe how expressing real pain on pen and paper evokes pain from within the readers own mind.
It's a mystery how it was created and formed from a language that is really just things from the earth.
My mind is stretched when I think about all the hundreds of millions of poems written by mere mortals, especially those that make you feel wrongly immortal.
There are endless reasons why I don't understand poetry ,but in essence it is just something that nobody truly understands because poetry is a feeling and who really understands feelings.