The pen is put to paper,
Precious words begin to flow;
The poet starts the journey
Where so few dare to go.
Imprisoned by emotions,
The pain that they impart,
Alone... no understanding
For the weary poet's heart.
Never an indication,
To all which lies beneath;
Such fire, such hope, such anger,
Such truth, such deep belief.
A dreamer, not a scholar,
A simple artist using words;
Their inner hunger burning,
The voice that must be heard.
With the intimacy of a lover,
Reaching in to touch your soul,
Instilling deeper passion,
The poet's reached their goal.
The joy of newborn laughter,
The grief the soul will shed,
The poet puts to paper
The tears the heart has bled.
If for one fleeting moment
There stirs within your chest,
A flash of understanding...
The poet's pen can rest.
For as you see yourself
Within these lines of art,
You know the you have caught a glimpse
Inside the poet's heart.
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