Senses of the Poet

As a lonely hawk wonders the skies All to wise, yet still she squalls and cries Lost in seclusion of the sunrise, yet still she flies The hawk on the horizon is passionately recognized in the poet’s eyes As you touch the rigid surface of the wheel Or as lazy fingers slide across surfaces of chilled steel You’re privileged to pen to another’s appeal The poet’s feel could be classified as surreal Thunderous sounds appear as the floor greets the tear Melancholy whispers ricochet sincere from the tears engineer After the apologetic whisper are heard lust moans within the frontier All unheard by the norm but rest profoundly inside the Poets ear Savoring the sweet taste of a pear, taste-buds are embraced Angelic delicacies are enjoyed, not a crumb gone to waste The Poet relishes as a smile forms within the face A new appreciation is encased within in the poets taste The aroma of a dozen roses is moving like the ringing of liberty bells But to the Poet a single daisy scent tells the of tale of tales Speaking of scented spells over insects and how they loved well Scents, aromas, and flavors are more attractive in the Poets keen smell Senses are sharpened and appreciation increases A poets is blessed to describe all the these things In pieces A new appreciation is created and one must think in a new way For you are privileged to use these senses every day not really sure what im trying to say so i'll just write another day (might as well keep rhyming)