A Poet is . . . . .
. . . . . someone who picks up a seashell to hear whispering stars, not surf
. . . . . someone who writes to explore the dark, yet frees the light
. . . . . someone who skywrites without wings
. . . . . someone who stargazes using only a pen
. . . . . someone who paints the silence ‘tween heartbeats
. . . . . someone who reflects moonbeams onto paper
. . . . . someone who knows the difference between silence and silent
. . . . . someone who carves runes on cheese then serves on crackers with whiskey
. . . . . someone who would rather be a mime than an actor
. . . . . someone who dips feather quills into red wine for ink
. . . . . someone who briefly seduces silence into a captive audience
. . . . . someone who confides in starlight with no expectations at all
. . . . . someone who answers questions that will never be asked
. . . . . someone who would rather be a story than a fact
. . . . . someone who returns a wave from a stranger,
. . . . . . .then realizes it was a cloud, shaped like a dragon
A Poet is . . . . someone who is truly patient . . . . waits for the right words . . . . for the right person . . . . for all the right reasons . . . . for the right moment . . . . but no sooner . . . . yet all too often . . . . too late . . . .
