The Poet


The poet sheds one tear
On hundreds of sentences
Empty papers, unwritten years
Locked exits, locked entrances
The night brings her fears
Loneliness, ugly resemblances
So the poet goes to sleep
And she dreams of scenes
Of worlds that never existed

You can hear her at night
Her silent cries horrify
They cut through this silence
And silent after the sunrise
I can feel her pain
It’s a torment to the sane
By darkness she’s desired
And an enemy she is to fire

The poet writes her masterpiece
The perfection of pain and grief
The beauty of a feeling unleashed
Weeps from the deception of beliefs
A relief comes as robbed from a thief

The poet feels high as she writes
But the poem refuses to end
Two days and nights of fright
But relief wont come again
The poet spent a lifetime
And found no happy endings
Sought a completed rime
And found nothing but death in it

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