While talking with a friend last night, Walt Whitman came up.
And this got me thinking about poetry and life.
Sometimes, life can't be broken apart by science and engineering. Sometimes it's more poetry.
I think there are two types of people in this world. Those who want to know the ins and outs of everything, and those who are more interested in how it makes them feel.
For some people, the end is not what matters, it's the why. That the clock tells time isn't as important as what makes up that clock.
For me though, it's not the why, as much as it is the emotion behind things.
When you look at a sunset, do you think about the science behind it? Or do you let the sun's fading rays wash over you, and breath a sigh of relief that the day is done?
I don't think the world can be fit into neat little boxes or stanzas.
In Dead Poets Society, Mr. Keating told the students to tear out the pages that attempted to deconstruct poetry. And that's such a crucial scene.
Because poetry is about passion. Poetry is about emotion. Life is poetry.
And maybe we miss things when we try to deconstruct it.
Life is meant to be lived. Live is about the feeling.