A poet, my dear...

Volcano Poet, by Dale Witherow (c)

a poet, my dear, 

is not only words nor verses beautifully arranged...
 - i think you have already known -  
nor birds and moons and flowers to behold
a poet is a story never told
a silence in the wind before it changed.


a poet is an eye that never sleeps
one broken antenna searching for the stars
an endless circle of slowly bleeding  lips 
of wounds and broken dreams and deepened scars

a poet is a heart on fire,a heart in rain,
one white feather of a swan swimming in sorrow

Do not waste time, my dear, 

all goes in vain

For you, being a heartless stone,
 - i think you have already known -  

there's no tomorrow...