The Worlds of a Poet
We sit all alone for hours
Staring at a screen that says nothing to us
We hear our blood flow through our veins
We can feel the air fill our lungs
Clinging to a life of quiet existence
Our minds wander through a million worlds
Worlds of unending love
Worlds of hatred that destroys whatever it touches
Worlds of total darkness
Without even the light of one star to light our way
Worlds of green beneath breeze blown clouds
With a single flowers on a gently sloping hillside
A poet looks at all of the worlds
Seeing what others won’t, don’t or can’t
We sit all alone for hours
Typing words that our minds see and feel
We hope that each one will affect someone
And they too will see the worlds we see
They will feel what we feel
And they will sit all alone
Staring at a screen that says nothing to us
But they will see the worlds
And they will write their words and feeling
And the eternal cycle of poetry will continue
More ink will be spilled
More words will be written
And maybe more people will care about a flower on a hillside
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