Poem

The eye of a poet is hard to see because it is something that as not yet come to be. It starts with a live heart. It brakes downs a visions into little parts. Visions of colors start to show a heart full love ready to go. Next come visions of tomorrow. Images of love happiness pain and sorrow. Sounds of screams and laughter, follow by forever after. Then a thought is caught in the seed of the brain. A thought needing a feeling and name. A pen or a computer is taken in the hand. This starts and the beginning of a plan. The words begin to take a form. The feeling with words come before to long. The words of life starts to flow. The words from the hands instinctively just know, The painting of a of a vision takes place, a smile forms around the face. The heart pumps blood to the hand. like a ship on water instead of land. As the writing keep going the vision becomes clear. The mind is opens up with somethings new to share. A feeling develops all on it;s own. As the poet gives new words a home. A poet eye is like no other, if they are writing about bringing a world together. Suddenly the images are put into words words that not even the poet has heard. Now it's done now it's through. For others to see and review. But the botton line is simple to see. A poem that says it;s about you not me.