I think poetry is mainly just

different souls
saying the same thing. 
 
Look at me.
 
The world is beautiful. 
 
I am in pain.
 
I am in love. 
 
They’re the same thing, really, but
 
the world is beautiful
 
and horrible.
 
But hope springs
 
(you know the next bit)
 
and though it be
strange-wild-dark-hurtful-overwhleming
 
the world is beautiful. 
 
Look at it
 
look at me
 
look with me.