A Poet, Who Me
A Poet, Who Me?
Claiming to be a poet
I see
Is daunting
When we
Consider
That there are those
Who ply that trade
Who write themselves
Clear
Of noise
Of fog
Who share themselves
Boldly
From mountain
From gutter
I like a child
Emerging
See
That
All around
Are poets that inspire
In words
that delight
The question
shall be
When facing an never ending
Library of poems
Shall I put down my pen
To say
Not me
Or shall I too choose
To honor
Inside
To honor
This voice
As it spills out of me
Onto page after page
To dam it up
Cruel
Like my mother
Constipated
In pain
Knowing that
Only
In allowing
Will growth occur
From seed
To sprout
I rise
From nothing to beauty
From below
To the sky above
Watch me soar
I am the poet
Of my life
I am the writer
Of my soul
I am the dreamer
Of my dreams
I am the dancer
For the one
Who dances
in and through
My heart
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