I am not a poet.
A real poet is never lost for words.
He does not let them fall carelessly
From his mouth, to collect at her feet.
He would not let her tears fall upon them.
A real poet does not say good-bye.
He makes sadness seem innocent and paints it
With words of color and turns pain to beauty.
With words of color and turns pain to beauty.
I am not a poet.
A real poet sees love always.
He does not let it drift away on burning tide
To be swallowed up in tomorrow's light.
He does not let love expire.
A real poet does not lose his place.
He holds the gentle hand to his chest and
Whispers the words he has written in his heart.
Whispers the words he has written in his heart.
I am not a poet.
A real poet never fails.
He has no rules, only to speak his truth,
And capture for wanting, our lost desires.
He would not do as I have done.
A real poet is not hidden by his words.
He gives to the world his gift, ever selfless
And yearning, but to set her beauty free.
And yearning, but to set her beauty free.
I am not a poet.
Year:
2015
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