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...
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