Poet

The first poem I have written in a long time. Meant to be read, each verse, in one breath with no pauses...hope it doesn't disappoint.

Poet is as poet does

But what’s a poet to do

When there is no inspiration

And no further expectation?

How does one write

When the rhyming doesn’t come forward

The words don’t match

And I can’t find any lose thought to catch?

Easy to call myself a writer

Hard to actually do the writing

And harder still to make gray matter

Black and tangible on white paper

Whoever said a poet had to write

A writer to publish

An artist to draw

A painter to paint?

Are poems written inside

And then committed to paper

Only after we’ve taken the time

To form them completely in our minds?

Do we write them in our souls

Are they there in our eyes

Do they burst forth with no effort

Do they require skill to craft?

Do true poets and writers try

Do they labor over every word

Or is it something that just happens

Without control and equation?

Does it burst out

Poet as powerless to stop it as

Cars crashing and planets spinning

Water rising and fires burning?

Is it as chaotic as all that

Or is it a thing of beauty when it happens

Like the dance of a childs first step

And the suns first bubble of light over the dark horizon

Does God give it or is it simply us

Searching for the right words

To commit to paper

And show to our peers

Are poets born or made

Is language an accident or a gift

Do we write because we like to

Or do we write because we need to?