When the poet loves, the poet gives birth
The poet reigns over the vast lands of the earth
As the love grows, the poet conquers all the seas
With ink-stained hands, the poet shapes galaxies

A poet in love crowns a special muse
His ocean of inspirations, the poet's mind on a cruise
Hands grow exhausted, crumpled papers accumulate
Verbal perfection, the poet seeks to create

The poet sings, lyrics morph into his beloved's name
Eyes descry a lovely face, metaphors embody a frame
With mellifluous words, the poet builds a pedestal
Through his poetic verses, his beloved turns immortal

The air the poet breathes, the radiant sun in the sky
The joy at Christmas Eve, fireworks during 4th of July
Furious storms, calming breeze, devastating earthquakes
The beloved adapts any form, whatever the poet makes

Resplendent rainbows insipid compared to corporal curves
Art erupting from pens, embellishing what eyes observe
From vivacious mornings to sleepless nights
The beloved is everything - everything, the poet writes

But on a daily basis, the poet wages into an inconspicuous war
A pen as his reliable sword, stacks of papers hide every scar
A war of incarcerated words, of subdued emotions
Even the most trivial move can shatter the crystal elation

The poet writes when in bliss, all the more when morose
Describing through flowery words, the beauty in an overdose
The beloved's candle-like fingers transmogrify to perilous daggers
Affectionate lips emulate a whirlpool at the heart of ocean waters

The poet seeks the tranquil blue in a bed of scarlet flames
Ears hearing strident chains of profanities as endearing names
And the poet still loves, never ceases to write
Exacerbation of the rational mind and melodramatic heart's fight

The sun conflagrates the flesh, moon freezes the core
Billows that used to dance vehemently washes the poet ashore
A hand grips a pen tighter and writes some more
Words of today vociferously emerging from yesterday's door

When the poet loves, the poet gives birth
His love reigns over the vast lands of his earth
Then it blinds the poet's sight, defiles the poet's ink
His own words are the music as he dances on the brink