A Poet's Truth
It takes a certain type of person
to write poetry. Over achieving,
brave people dare not put pen
to paper and expose themselves.
Brave types, wake before the sun and
travel to work with a coffee smile, and
take refuge in a grey cube at a common
job. Monotony doesn't bother them.
Happily the clip coupons, and stir hamburger
helper to their two point six children.
Poets are tied to a whim. A job for a loner.
Searching for a word, an idea a bolt of
creativity. We deal in fear. Am I good enough?
What if my brain finally gives out?
Poets have no problems with the truth, we bare
our souls and pray that someone will read our words.
We are special and different. Sitting for hours
trying to find words to satisfy our drive and
leave a mark, no matter how infinitely small on
I'd like to think we are part of the chosen few.
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Comments about this poem (A Poet's Truth by Robin Bennett )
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