Ferlinghetti called poetry eternal graffiti and I guess he may have a point. Poetry at its finest will make an indelible impression on the human heart and soul. It is recklessly but pristinely spray painted across one’s consciousness. The bright colors and the elaborate structure of the lettering looms large in one’s vision. The words dance across a subconscious Sahara seeking an oasis. Those with wisdom are able to find ways to take that tag and feel inspired and restored. The words and images are seared into the retina and take on a life of their own. Those renegade poets and pranksters have made their mark. They may or may not go down in history but somewhere along the line they have touched and inspired someone. That, in the end, is the function of poetry.
Verse etched on a wall
the decay of ancestors
the buildings collapse
spirit rises up in words
eternally etched on soul