The Poet

He is a poet speaking of love writing the words whose lips are formed That when the sigh and cry pass through them it sounds like lovely music The poet whose heart was shattered by love lost his soul bleeds his body on burning ice The poets precious tongue is his pen speech made of paper He is the thief of fire his message can be smelled, fondled and listened to His eyes gaze with luminous light life is pinned on a calling that only a troubled heart can satisfy He is a romantic and this poem is for that unmet woman In this poem my love I am the poet you are the poetry...