Defining Poetry: The Second Session

What is poetry to me, one may ask,
And ‘tis the quest and question in the task.
‘Tis the world and the word that I don’t know,
By which my insight I can clearly show.

‘Tis how I share the pain to gain respect
From those whom my feelings never affect.
Yet feelings I drill through harmonious trills
Of poetic verse, which all hearts fulfills.

Question me not, a purpose I have set,
And interference will not be well met,
For I know my reasons and that is it –
I will not waver to cunning deceit.

Poetry perspires my secret dreams
And many a nightmare that thought redeems.
It creates a vision cleverly screened
Of all the folly that my life careened.