Answer to those known not to be "big fans" of poetry

A friend of mine wrote me recently as she and I are in the serial habit of writing each other as such ... I had recently shared an old poem of mine written in 1999 titled, Returning Word, which communicated elegantly something she has some rigid structures of resistance to, with her rational mind appearing disconnected from her heart leaving here uninformed per se. It continues to be a deep teaching moment for me as she persists in creating negations to my forays, turning them into platitudes. Such nonsense, really ... my most recent attempt to garner her understanding is of course culled by a new tact, as of course each new attempt must be I think, for me to continue to express and have any possibility for her. From using poetry I have reversed my focus back to logic and definitions and attention to meta language and communicating integral thought/thinking. 

So, my answer to her statement follows...

What prompts you too close down communication like this?  Impatience, vanity ... what? You realize that I am not my poetry, and you are not your "mission." Maybe you could suggest a metaphor for me other than language for the physical beingness we express? I'm thinking you might go with the vessel -> holy grail legend which you will always be famous in my memory for. The poem I shared with you was my expression to you, it was not an artifact per se but was as relevant the day I wrote it as it is today if not more so. Let me reiterate that - I didn't share or send you a "poem" but rather an expression I have channeled as poetry; but, which follows no formality or set of rules. If there is a basis that can be defined for choosing a creative writing paradigm like poetry to express myself at times, I suppose it is that the heart, at least my heart, I experience as a musical harmony in perfect time, and when relevant find my written discourse simply looks more like poetry than prose, voila. Whenever I speak both from the heart and without rational focus, my words found poetry far more simpatico than the rest of the possible types/classes/genres in the world. So it goes...

From another view, taking Rumi and Hafiz, as well as Whitman, Emerson, Shakespeare, Percy, ahhh, but the list could easily run on and on for me, why? Poetry is far more pleasing to read when one's consciousness is focused on the heart. As a reader, there is really nothing more exciting and rewarding than to discover a new poet, past or present; that, in the reading my heart sings and dances an understanding unto itself.

...

On further reflection I should add that my excitement over understanding a new poet emotionally is not in any sense like a liking for. In fact, a major portion of my favorite poets are really difficult reads (TO SAY THE LEAST  :-). Rather, the excitement is due simply to understanding developed with a concordant illumination within. If the truth were really to be told, I sometimes read prose poetically and vice versa. Such fluidity characterizing my style of listening and reading might be considered as weak in concentration. That conversation is far beyond the scope of this post. Suffice it to say howver, that despite this apparent dissonance in communication (as I understand myself actively through it) my intuition seems to have a precedent level role leading me to more and more properly align myself though formal dictates appear broken. The relevant issue here is of course truth and the discernment required in order to both perceive and appreciate truth. It is a judgement void of personal taste, drama, and concern for external references, standards, fads, styles, etc.

With a proper acknowledgement of my rather banal dualistic revelation on the matter, the conversation regarding the truth of all that which I just now classified as falsifying; again, is a conversation far beyond the scope of this post. Yet again, one strives to be complete, as much as possible, with the greatest most concise amount of brevity one is capable of, particularly when one's tact is rationally based.