I Am Not a Poet

I am not a poet I sit alone in this room, lit by a candle These walls I lean on are painted with gloom A storm outside seems to wash my vibe away An inkless page stares at me like an empty vessel The virgin pen in my hand, irks my fingertips Words are better when they come from lips No, I cannot do it I say I am not a poet If I were a poet, I would pen to the young boys and girls To teach them the ethos of life I would send word in rhyme to the leaders Of this world and tell them; let your rule be just To the soldiers I would write; lay down your weapons Let no more blood be shed I would even poet to the stars until they shone brighter And to all the inhabitants of the earth; I’d preach kindness to one another But I searched in me, I found not the words Nothing but a scared heart, a diminutive vibe For poetry is not intellect, it is a gift Poetry is not pondered on; it emanates naturally Poetry is inspiration, not perspiration Poetry is like a gentle nudge on your spine It is the soothing breeze to your spirit; a bursting bosom that spits out words Poetry is like a wind chime A whisper from the gods to us mortals Poetry is like water from a river; to quench a chosen few Poetry comes from the deep and sacrosanct valleys of the heart Alas; my valleys are shallow, my rivers are dry I am not a poet!