Poetry is interesting because not everyone is going to become a

Hear, O children of song and seekers of truth, the voice of Amanda Gorman, who proclaimed: “Poetry is interesting because not everyone is going to become a great poet, but anyone can be, and anyone can enjoy poetry, and it’s this openness, this accessibility of poetry that makes it the language of people.” In these words lies a noble reminder: poetry is not a kingdom reserved for a chosen few, but a common wellspring, a cup from which all may drink. It is not the private tongue of scholars, nor the guarded treasure of the elite, but the natural speech of the human heart.

For it is true, not all shall be remembered as great poets. The names of Homer, Shakespeare, Neruda, and Angelou shine like stars in the firmament of history, and their brilliance cannot be dimmed. Yet greatness in renown is not the only greatness. Anyone, says Gorman, can be a poet—not because of fame, but because every soul holds the capacity to translate its own truth into words. To whisper a lullaby to a child, to carve a love note into a desk, to write a verse of mourning for a friend—these are the quiet acts of poetry that live not in anthologies, but in the fabric of human life.

This openness is what makes poetry the language of people. It is democratic in its essence: no wealth is needed, no education required, no permission sought. A shepherd in the hills of ancient Greece could sing as truly as Pindar. A woman in Harlem could write lines in her notebook as powerful as those on the world’s stage. In the ghettos of Warsaw, children scratched poems onto scraps of paper, preserving their humanity in the face of horror. In every age, poetry has been the people’s tongue, rising wherever hearts beat and voices cry.

Consider the story of Langston Hughes, who gave voice to the struggles and dreams of African Americans during the Harlem Renaissance. He did not write for kings or academics; he wrote for cab drivers, for cooks, for workers, for dreamers. His words carried the rhythms of jazz, the pulse of the street, the ache of injustice, the hope of tomorrow. Through him, poetry became not only art but anthem, a way for ordinary people to see themselves honored and heard. This is what Amanda Gorman calls us to remember: poetry belongs to all.

She herself is proof of this truth. Rising from the community rather than the academy, she became the youngest inaugural poet in American history, speaking to millions with her verses of unity and resilience. Her poetry did not require obscure references or coded allusions; it spoke with clarity, rhythm, and passion. In that moment, she revealed what she now declares: that poetry’s power lies in its accessibility, its ability to touch the hearts of the many, not just the few.

And yet, though open to all, poetry does not lose its depth. It can be simple and profound at once, like a folk song that seems light until one listens closely and hears the centuries of longing behind it. Its beauty lies in this paradox: poetry can be a lantern for the unlearned and a fire for the learned, a comfort to the brokenhearted and a challenge to the powerful. Its openness is its strength, for in being for everyone, it speaks to the core of what makes us human.

Therefore, O seekers, the lesson is clear: do not measure yourself against the great names of poetry and grow silent. Instead, lift your voice, however humble, and let your words flow. Write for your children, your friends, your neighbors; write for yourself, that your soul may be known to you. And just as importantly, read and listen to poetry wherever it arises—in a song lyric, in a spoken word performance, in the sigh of the wind. To engage with poetry is to join in the great conversation of humanity.

So remember Amanda Gorman’s wisdom: poetry is not a gate that excludes but a doorway always open. Not all will be famous poets, but all can be poets of their own lives, shaping meaning from chaos, weaving rhythm from silence. This is why poetry is the language of people: because it is already in us, waiting only for us to give it breath.