How does one know if they are a true poet or merely a lost soul with pen and paper unscrambling their emotions.  Flying high in a cloud of words with definition,  picking and choosing the ripest  like a grape from the vine, reaching into the depths of my heart with the blood of my conviction dripping words on my tablet describing my visions of  life. Yet still the question rains like thunder crashing and lightning striking, be it a fool destined to become a true poet or a poet with eyes that are blind. Knowing the words to be written because they embrace me like a mother does a new born child , but searching for description as to what  makes a poet in a true poets eyes.?