Profile of the Poet
If the poet stops writing,
who will tell the woes
of the inner struggle?
Whilst most live in pursuit of the tangible, the explicable
Accepting an illusion as reality,
The poet exists in a realm few dare to enter
And fewer still,
honor sacred and integral to existence.
We dare to bare our scarred souls to the world,
We wrestle with the demons we create as a species
In our oftentimes narcissistic trek through evolution,
We are that vital link
Bridging the gap
Between the here and now
and our timeless origins
We are the poets,
Our eyes
Witness the silent journey
Of Spirit
who will tell the woes
of the inner struggle?
Whilst most live in pursuit of the tangible, the explicable
Accepting an illusion as reality,
The poet exists in a realm few dare to enter
And fewer still,
honor sacred and integral to existence.
We dare to bare our scarred souls to the world,
We wrestle with the demons we create as a species
In our oftentimes narcissistic trek through evolution,
We are that vital link
Bridging the gap
Between the here and now
and our timeless origins
We are the poets,
Our eyes
Witness the silent journey
Of Spirit
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