As a poet
We write it all
We give it all
We’ve nothing
To hide

Naked and open
You’ll always know
Every mouthfull
Of forever spilled
On pages and papers
On a machine or
A dry carp paper

As a poet
We write a lot
Every thing in our heart
Writing is a great art

Good or bad
It never matters
Happy or sad
We write for
Every moment of natures

As a poet
We talk in
Different ways
Even if rude
Its not our sin

Fast or slow
Even if we
Are a bit low
Just people don't see

Clam or frown
We handle it all
But sadly they think
We are clown
We openly say it all

As a poet
They say
We all never bias
On any way

As a poet
We write it all
We give it all
We’ve nothing
To hide

Naked and open
You’ll always know
Every mouthfull
Of forever spilled
On pages and papers
On a machine or
A dry carp paper

At which hill
Will the wind crest

Retreat to still,
Recaptured breath

How deep the sea
Churns calling cold

Raptured bells of
Sunken churches toll

If ever there were
Predestined plateau

Where promised peace
Could erase the chain—

But the wind again billows
And once more, the rain

Orchids wilt and rot
in time.
Roses have thorns that
***** to bleed.
Seeds bring life that
ultimately dies.
In lieu of flowers
give me your
eyes full of
heat and desire.
Surrender your heart of
passion, but most of all,
water me with your
love so that I can grow.