The poet

I grieve!

Yet emotions; excavate through my head.

I panic! . . . I can’t speak.

So I write of this open wound.

And I snitch the emotion that you, yourself could not convey.

These are the days that rejoice me!

But all my life here in a corner I sit,

Motionless!

No urge to move so Depressed!

One pint of blood seems to supply my brain,

Yet! . . . No breathe!

No oxygen gained!

So! I sleep till the next earth shattering moment comes!

Which! Could be brief!

Then armed with pen and paper,

The title comes.

Then aha; . . . Here it comes relief!

And now the words run free,

Like streams making their way to the open sea.

Now! . . . If this frequency does not flow,

This creature here! Will surely die;

And like so many others of his type,

Their emotions, their words, their insight,

Is the door to their annihilation!

So whenever you see one, please beware!

That! . . . That hearty creature delves deep into the human sphere,

Read his work carefully and then you will know

That the poet cares!

Written by Gtw