The Poet Poem by Timothy muggaga

You wonder why i never weep
with my head bowed so deep
wishing i would, my sorrows keep
but listen, trouble makes life not cheap
so that we, all in our grave can leap
when our epitaphs, with honor they heap

So all i do is write and also shine
the pen makes me feel great and fine
even when winds of life blow me like pine
Let it be my creator who draws the line
when death, on my flesh to dine
my lyrics with my works i wish to align

that is why i call my self the poet
life to me speaks so fluent
i hear fate, i see reality... all that is meant
'feeling' in me is so impotent
i don't weep for those i shouldn't
and i don't create what God didn't