The Endless Marathon Of A Lone Poet, Untamed Poem by James Darwin Smith II

A loner spills his ink
Crimson stains
From the deepest depths
Of his soul
Trying so hard to express him
Self to a world
He cannot but harbor in pain


It hurts
But this word traveler
Keeps on going
Through the void
Of no return
Trying to create a universe
Of Musings and all
That can be or not be explained



From self-expressions to paradox
Trying to make a name out of something
Looking for stars
And true words
No matter where
They at least would be there
All that he wants
Is something, anything?
Tired of seeing things barren
While others celebrate
Their clique fashioned ways



But he rides on
Does things
They suggest not doing
A lonely endeavor
Yet, it is something
That is real within
As fakeness will never be attained



This loner spills ink
Now forming crimson rivers
Traveling through the currents
Till the ocean of dreams
Finally pulls him through
As he sails to endless destinations
No matter where they go from here



What is success?
When one has to brag
About themselves



Being alone may hurt
But it gives more perspectives
Than anything else could ever even give




What is a poet who has never felt pain?
Someone who never uses emotions
To try expressing themselves
Out of a world full of disarray




The blood is drained
And now he waits
For more blood to come its way




A muse is something that can never entirely be explained
As long as the creative heart never stops beating
And the mind finds ways to poetically mend




Oh, Lone poet
Where shall I go from here?



Welcome to
The endless marathon of a lone poet
May there be way more destinations
That comes his way


We are one in the same


Hear our screams
Of the art
That makes us who we are



We are one in the same

Muse; guide us where we need to go


Welcome to
The endless marathon of a lone poet



Two in one
Independent
Perhaps different
But definitely
Untamed



It might get lonely
But all is good
In the end



The lone poet will always be untamed