Why Poetry Is Magic

In a fast-moving world, poetry is the spell that stills the soul.

Scroll a little more. Click a little quicker. Take it in, bit by bit, and then move on. We’re all fed a constant stream of content designed to grab our attention and keep us wanting more. Always reaching. Rarely resting.

But poetry doesn’t work like that.

It doesn’t shout to be seen. It doesn’t rush to keep up. It simply waits, patient, quiet, confident in what it is and who it is for.

A poem invites you to slow down. Every word placed with meticulous care. You can’t skim it. You can’t skip to the end. You can’t fully understand its impact if you only read the CliffsNotes. You have to sit with it. Line by line. Breath by breath. And then something happens in that space, something powerful.

Sometimes, a single line will stay with me for years. Like a half-remembered dream, it rises up when I need it most. A quiet kind of magic that reminds me I still carry wonder inside me.

Because that’s what poetry is, really. A kind of magic. A spell made of tongue and ear and eye and lungs.

In a world that tells us to keep moving forward, poetry gently insists that we simply be present. Where everything else is streamlined and fast, poetry meanders. It takes its time. It asks you to do the same.

It brings us back to ourselves, to each other, to something bigger.

It doesn’t demand attention. But it lingers.

And sometimes, that’s all we need. A moment to pause. To breathe. To remember that we are still here. Still human. Still alive.

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If you’re looking for a poem that feels like a spell and a quiet invitation to return to yourself
Moon by Rachel Tribble is just that.

This luminous little book is full of softness, strength, and space to breathe. The perfect companion for slow mornings, deep thoughts, and finding your way back home to yourself.