When a Poet no longer knows,
If he/she can articulate what he/she feels,
Does he/she cease to be a Poet?
Is he/she still a purveyor of words, inner aches,
And broken hearts.
When the inner spring,
Of life changing emotion dries up,
What is the Poet then?
It is my deeply considered opinion,
That he/she is still a Poet.
For Poets are not made by life's journey,
Poets are born with a poetic heart.
With a hunger for language,
And an endless stream of words and phrases.
Yes, they are forged on life's anvil,
By fire and a brutal beating,
But Poets are born not made.
Smouldering Soul (c) Oct 2024.