When emotion finds its thought ...

It was uneasy to get through last weekend because of all the tearfully mediated (mostly by TV) memories and mournfully recalled images of terror. I felt the need to seek solace, but didn't know where to look. Fortunately for me, poetry reared its consoling head. I was reminded by Paul Engle that "Poetry is ordinary language raised to the nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words." Try the "boned ideas" and the language "blooded with emotions" written sometime between 1809 and 1892 by Lord Alfred Tennyson From "Crossing the Bar":

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark.

Also, slowly read two Haiku poems below:

spring rain...

profusely,

I too shed tears.

—Arthur unknown

Turn off the light,

not for economy,

but for me.

—bing inocencio

On reading the above, I shared the feeling of Robert Frost who once observed that 
poetry happens "when an emotion has found its thought, and the thought has found its word".