As poets
We become the words—
the written and heard,
the classic or absurd,
just simply; painting pictures with words,
lines and phrases,
nouns or verbs,
As poets,
We become the words—
in a world that we express,
within humanity to be nothing less,
a poetical success; as we possess,
a passion for the art—
that we often obsess over,
As we—
breathe life into poetry,
for each rhyme of the poetic lines,
signifies a thousand heartbeats that define,
as we clarify the thoughts of a poetic mind,
artistic and dignified,
poetic ideas classified—
until they land upon the page,
As we—
the poets continue to engage,
and wage poetical war upon each page,
As poets,
We become the words—
and the very surge of poetic energy;
and watch as we—
continue to converge,
and aim to emerge; at a higher poetic level,
unseen and unheard—
as we tend to,
smile at each subject and verb,
definitions and meanings—
held in place; with each poetic greeting,
but we never wave goodbye,
or move away from poetry—
As poets,
We become the words,
within concentrated fields and layers,
within devoted years and the purveyors,
artists and wordsmiths—
for when it comes to poetry,
we just can’t seem to resist,
writing or reciting,
as poetry feels so inviting,
pen in hand and held firmly by,
a very determined wrist—
paper just waiting to be filled,
and in these moments for us,
time seems to stand still,
just for us,
As we—
follow our minds and hearts,
instead of a syllabus,
poetic imagination running wild,
and doing so with a smile,
As we—
hold the poetical keys,
for what we do isn’t theoretical,
we just simply be,
with the joy of building each one,
upon completion; after what we’ve done,
for we are not the straight line,
but rather the curve—
and poetry gives back to us; what we deserve,
to share or self serve,
and not to be unnerved,
for with each poetic line—
we fly and climb like the birds,
so forget what you think,
what you might have heard,
or believe to know—
and from what may or may not occurred,
For we—
For we—
As poets,
Have truly become the words.
PM
