The Poet

With a thought in mind,
a brain bubbling in thought; 
a brain storm, a short circuit,
an eye gazing at everything.

With a pen in hand,
and a vein jerks out of hand,
an ear on the ground,
railing out roaming words.

With a gather of figures,
a fact strolls in heart,
connecting fingers to pen,
putting pen to paper,
a poet writes his heart. 
A poet writes his society. 
A poet writes his fantasy.
His fictions; his love, he writes.

He sees beyond his imaginations,
and writes beyond his scope.
A poet proposes prose for prospect.
A poet, a pen full of points,
 writes in sleeps.
Writes on stones; writes of evil,
and writes on everything. 
A poet, a pen pulling past plans.

Before a poet pants, he plans.
Before he plans he ponders. 
When a poet ponders, he pulls,
pulling pen to the trigger,
corking pen to pen down events.

As history re-emerges; events emerges;
submerging traitors of history, 
submerging traitors of our time,
submerging traitors of season. 

A poet with his poetic regalia, 
donning his poetic gown.
With his poetic shield of history,
With his poetic armor,
throws a poetic spare to the enemies of history.

Copyright © Bright Aleruchi | Year Posted 2006

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