Serens do shine across the sky,
that cascades in a swirling light.
The darkness opens up a view,
that centers in third eye.

Night casts off in quietude,
to gaze up while wind gently purrs.
The moment hugs and here I stand
with star sisters that sing.

Oh to sip the bubbly brew,
that tickles on the tongue and breath.
A drink or two it never hurts,
when dark covers the light.

Soon the landscape whispers grand,
to escort me to go to sleep.
And dream I will inside this night
before sun princess calls.

When the ball of fire shines,
across horizon than I wake.
And recall where I traveled to
as prose does birth my hands.

The truth about poets
Is
They’re not all alike
Some are derelicts
Scalawags
Lovers
Sisters
Some say they’re writers
Instead of Poet
For they know what that puts
Into the minds of others
Romantic
Lethargic
Gypsy
Some will never write novels
Poems are their Ulysses
Their ‘Love in the Time Of Cholera
Some are sad
Withdrawn
Choose to live there
While some poets
Use their words
To claw their way out
Some have fallen out of love
&
Want someone
ANYONE
to listen
While some have fallen in
the deepest ocean
&
Want to tell the world
What this man
This woman
Means to them

Most write their verses
Alone
Some at midnight
Some at sunrise
Some with coffee
Most with bottles

Most will never see the reaction
Of many
Will never hear
‘I like that...’

And most don’t want to be famous
Or sometimes heard
We
Just want to be
Ourselves