A poet paints with the gift of words,
Expressing the feelings of the soul.
They touch you with visions,
Sharing the beauty written.

But a poet suffers for their art,
Taking the pain deep into their soul.
Crying tears of blood upon the paper,
The ink screams out their remorse.

This poet has known shame.
He has hurt himself and the one he loves.
The time has come to heal,
To tear down the walls.

Shatter the misery deep inside.
To take hold of the hand of love,
To find the acceptance of the heart,
And all of the dreams to come.

copyright Chris Smith 2011