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Poem

A Poet may think, he or she is good
A Poet may write of daffodils of white,
or a roaring stream, capped, enraged
running for a quiet place, a solemn place

A Poet may dream of higher aspirations
of floating on clouds of powder cotton candy 
while riding a Bull, in it's stride to rid the rider
then turn suddenly, to a field of umber wheat

A Poet may wish for greater things to come
when in reality, wealth will only come when
The Poet is dead and gone, more remembered
in death, than in life so aimlessly lost

 A Poet may think they are at their best
in younger years, when thoughts are fresh
new, and easily come by, yet form experience
I find that not to be true, This is what I have found,

A True Poet is wise, whether from age or the 
experiences they have lived, and died for,
A true Poet, Has a heart, Lives their heart
and can tell their Heart from all others,

I am a Published Poet, yet I am a Poet
I am a Poet Laurette, yet I am a Poet,
I am an International Poet Laurette,
To me,I am just a Poet, with a Heart

With all my Kudos and all my friends, 
the Kudos I have thrown in a trunk,
My Poet Friends I hold dear, I say this
Do not write for acclamation, Indeed no!

That will truly, only come upon death,
Write from the Personal, your Love,
Your Heart, Your Heart break, Lust
Desires, Lorne, Beauty, Ugliness 

These things a Poet makes, Not Glory
Not Fame, Not institution, Heart....
Write of yourself, Your weaknesses, 
Your Strengths, Your Desires..... You!

You will come to know who you are
others will come to know you,
Your Fame will come to be in that which
you tell, And you will have PEACE!

I have Learned.... God Bless all my Poet Friends...... Live .... God Bless you all!!!!

The original.........TAZ

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