The mind of a poet
Is clearer than the cleanest water,
That trickles through your mind
Like a stream of thoughts,
Until it builds
Into a waterfall of emotions,
And collects
In a lake of blood,
Surrounding the hole
I put in my head…
The mind of a poet
Is crowded with ideas,
Scratching to get out
Until they burn a passage
Through your right hand
Bleed onto the page
And formulate the letters
That didn’t make sense
When I wrote them…
The rough draft of thoughts
The mind of a poet
Is obscured by blurs
Of occurrences never heard
The shadow you walk on
And the one that hides you
In the darkness you shiver
But fail to realize
That it is the lone cloud
That rains down the tears
You didn’t know how to cry