Does anyone like Poetry? I do!!!

So I'm sitting at home, under my hair dryer finishing a couple of poems. Poems which may or may not make it to the open mic at Busboys & Poets this summer. One of them has one INCREDIBLE killer line. That's right! I praise my own poem. I throw modesty to the wind when it comes to my poetry. I have admitted to many that I have a lot of really crappy poems (I mean flat out TRASH), a bunch of so-so ones, and a handful of awesome ones. I don't know if this poem is awesome...but...that one line sure is. Hit me up if you want to read it, it's not quite ready for the World Wide Web. I would be curious to know if someone can pick out the line that I love.

In other news, I was up last night watching Kissing Jessica Stein, and was struck by the use of a literary passage that is QUITE profound. I know everyone isn't a reader, and trust that I know nothing is as profound as the Bible (I mean it is the word of God...), but this is very impressive. Has anyone else ever heard of Rainer Maria Rilke? Sounds like it could be a girl...but totally a dude! I think he is now my favorite poet. I'm going to give you a couple of snippets of his writing. A little today, a little tomorrow, maybe a little on Saturday. It's all the same piece, but it's a little lengthy, and I don't want to bore you. ...Hopefully you're not dead already. I've underlined the pieces that made me SCREAM in my apartment (literally, I screamed. Good poetry gives me chills). This guy is awesome:

We must assume our existence as broadly as we in any way can;
everything, even the unheard-of, must be possible in it.
That is at bottom the only courage that is demanded of us:
to have courage for the most strange, the most singular and the most inexplicable that we may encounter.
That mankind has in this sense been cowardly has done life endless harm;
the experiences that are called "visions," the whole so-called "spirit-world," death,
all those things that are so closely akin to us,
have by daily parrying been so crowded out of life that the senses with which we could have grasped them are atrophied.
To say nothing of God.
But fear of the inexplicable has not alone impoverished the existence of the individual;
the relationship between one human being and another has also been cramped by it,
as though it had been lifted out of the riverbed of endless possibilities and set down in a fallow spot on the bank,
to which nothing happens.

This poetry makes me question: Do I let fear run my life? Have I allowed circumstance and societal norms, and "intelligent conversation" to rob me of the my sense of the magical? Has it taken away my ability to attain a higher level of faith? A higher sense of self? And has it doomed me to boredom and mediocrity? I want to go back to the riverbed of endless possibilities!! Who is going with me?