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I'm a Poet ?
I sit at the keyboard and stroke away the hours;
Allowing my mind to download the thoughts within.
Some are trivial and without true meaning in this world,
While others are pearls of wisdom that are uncovered and exposed.
My heart is to open and pours out the contained emotions;
Some of these have become aged and fermented like a fine wine,
Others are spoiled and simply rotten by the lack of attention.
Yet I pour them all out, rotten and sweet, fine and rancid.
My soul flows with these words onto the page before me.
With a fullness, I am blessed and enlightened by the spirit of life;
Yet at other times the soul is dark, a black hole capturing all light,
Greedily hoarding for it's own desires all of the virtues of the universe.
Combined, my works become a composite of my fragmented life;
Sometime worthwhile, at other times worthless; always real.
That is what you get from my words; reality… good or bad,
Sometimes indifferent; Does that mean that I'm a poet?
9Jan09
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