Something like a metaphor to understand the use of poetry.

Poetry is good for shaving. Before a shave read a good poem and your hair will stand up therefore making it easier to cut and reducing the number of times the razor must pass over your face.

The other day I came across a poem that is good for shaving. It was written by W.B. Yeats and it is called 'An Irish Airman foresees his Death':

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

(This post is, naturally, an eco of Mr White.)