I, Too Poem by Henry Tong

I, too, like a poet,
restlessly spill
trauma of words
on the paralyzed paper.

I, too, like a poet,
sometimes aloof in
His own dreams, mostly
in lonely depression.

Yet I understand one thing-
the power poems harness-
like the sharpest spear
penetrating les fleurs du mal.

Metaphors are my shield of
enthusiastic craziness, in which
I call out the heretical reason;
Irony is my Pegasus, taking me
above lies and slanders.

But I, too, am a human, a loyal
servant of game of words. I, too,
am a slave of worldview, invictus,
though, controlled by my lens.

I, too, silence myself sometimes,
fear of reciting the honorable verses.
Yet I, too, write myself poems,
proud be it a song of bursting wisdom.

I am a speck of the crowd-
yet no one can dust me off.