we don't read poetry anymore

.

If I could look back through the window of time, and whisper gentle words of guiding wisdom to the infinite past versions of myself I would say: read, poetry. 

and they would holler back: why waste time wringing words into roundabout sentences,
that seldom make sense upon the first reading let alone strike some deeper chord.
that show blithe disregard for punctuation and the rules that make language accessible under the guise of a poetic license.

when you can communicate succinctly, functionally, to maximise your utility as a unit in a larger system;
ambiguity wastes time, enigma leads to error
and we are too busy These Days to deal with the magic of mystery we want answers not more questions, and quickly because we don't have time. Attention is a scarce resource of which poetry demands too much: there is none left, there cannot be, it is spent.

on an existence nourished by pleasure and profit, traversed by scrolling through a ceaselessly spinning wheel of commerce.
leaving behind poetry for those lucky few who accident upon it, or the even fewer who brave distraction and desire to submit to the words and fall into an intimate moment with the mind that composed them,
and pray to get lost amidst these words so that they can't find their way out, trapped amongst ideas
because they've found meaning
a different kind, perhaps, than functional communication can convey.

Source: Unsplash