The funny things I’ve found about being a poet,
Is that you can see what others cannot.
I see the world through different eyes,
Where salt is sugar and bicycles fly.
A lion's roar is tamed, and a donkey's bray
Is music to my ears in a world of disarray.
Time is relative: twelve hours pass,
But in this world, words weave a different past.
Twelve years of love, of heartbeats, and of tears a lifetime of emotions captured in a single year.
We fall in love with paper,
Never forgetting the handshake of pens
Filled with blood… or rather, ink.
Creativity has become a mighty mirror
Of self-reflection.
See,
Poets are lost in thought and in space,
Their minds a maze of emotions in place.
They stare into the void with eyes that see
A world within, of wonder and glee.
We're told we’re funny, that we’re quite a sight "Boring," some might say, in our own little light.
But in our world of words, we’re free to roam,
Where silence speaks volumes and moments are our home.
Add you and me; together we create
A canvas of colors, a world in which to participate.
A picture of unity, of love, and of might,
Where one doesn't kneel unless we both take flight.
We walk as one, in harmony and pace;
Together we rise in a world of time and space.
We'd rather walk with you, hand in hand and slow,
Than run alone to reach the end with nowhere to go.
In the little things, we find our peace:
A smile, a glance, a moment to release.
Words are our solace, our guiding light,
A poet’s gift a world to ignite.
The funny things I’ve actually found
About being a poet is,
You can see what other people can't.
Like how we appreciate the little we get;
Even when smiles fade, words are ever grateful.
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 10:31 PM UTC
The funny things I’ve found about being a poet,
Is that you can see what others cannot.
I see the world through different eyes,
Where salt is sugar and bicycles fly.
A lion's roar is tamed, and a donkey's bray
Is music to my ears in a world of disarray.
Time is relative: twelve hours pass,
But in this world, words weave a different past.
Twelve years of love, of heartbeats, and of tears a lifetime of emotions captured in a single year.
We fall in love with paper,
Never forgetting the handshake of pens
Filled with blood… or rather, ink.
Creativity has become a mighty mirror
Of self-reflection.
See,
Poets are lost in thought and in space,
Their minds a maze of emotions in place.
They stare into the void with eyes that see
A world within, of wonder and glee.
We're told we’re funny, that we’re quite a sight "Boring," some might say, in our own little light.
But in our world of words, we’re free to roam,
Where silence speaks volumes and moments are our home.
Add you and me; together we create
A canvas of colors, a world in which to participate.
A picture of unity, of love, and of might,
Where one doesn't kneel unless we both take flight.
We walk as one, in harmony and pace;
Together we rise in a world of time and space.
We'd rather walk with you, hand in hand and slow,
Than run alone to reach the end with nowhere to go.
In the little things, we find our peace:
A smile, a glance, a moment to release.
Words are our solace, our guiding light,
A poet’s gift a world to ignite.
The funny things I’ve actually found
About being a poet is,
You can see what other people can't.
Like how we appreciate the little we get;
Even when smiles fade, words are ever grateful.
