words on a scrap of paper
when i write i leave myself
i don't existed as me
but as someone else
an essences of wisdom ?
experiences comes through
they light my candle
let the ink flow through my veins
staining white squares
ruled with lines
natures gifted
i'm not a poet
i'm a soul that speaks
through silences
and thoughts
my words aren't educated
but life worn
they spill like blood
they are my friends
and my enemy's
they reveal more
then others ever see
they talk to me
comfort me
scare me
and love me
my scrip's are me
and therefore i am them
that doesn't make me a poet
it makes me human
A contest entry
- what makes you a poet? by Lute.
5200 points, ended January 1, 69 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
well i seem to think this expresses your poetic nature very well...though i feel all humans are poets...some remain silent of their poetic nature and just live the mundane or extraordinary strands of life
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