The only proper subject of poetry is love. Love for another person, for home, for family, for country, for God, and lost love, love premature or disillusioned or disappointed or abandoned or unrequited or inappropriate or shattered, and love separated by death or confirmed by death or made possible by death. Not to exhaust such themes. Plato thought so. Kierkegaard thought so. And every pop singer thinks so. Other poetry, other lyrics, other music don't last in the memory and fade as quickly as clothing fashion and are read only by English instructors. Poetry expressing other subjects might interest us, but we bring the interest to the poem, without which the poem beckons no one. Great poetry about love bears its own interest and attracts us to it and gives us something that lives forever in us.