The poet of heart writes not what is,
But rather what is always dreamed of.
He does not boast his talent,
Lest word of his want get out.
He stays in the shadows of fear and doubt;
He lurks by the door of love and lust,
Only hoping to catch the sweet scents of their mystery.
He is an average man, with an average life,
But everyday he wishes for it to change.
He wants to step into water so deep
That surely he would be over his own head.
He dreams of a girl that is not just a fantasy,
Though she seems to be in a tower to tall for his bravery.
He can say all he wants of his ideas and imaginings,
But with these paper wings, he’ll never fly.
He is the poet of heart, he who writes not what is,
But rather what is always dreamed of.
Maybe there is a reason to keep it inside…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
awesome poem. i loved it