I am the temporary poet.
The one who feels so greatly,
The words do not come.

This is from the temporary poet
The one who is no longer injured,
Who can live life without living through metaphors.
The one who is not quite finished hiding behind words, but finally wordless.

Love. What IS LOVE!

I'm out of rhymes, metaphors and all of the above.
Finally restful as my poet self seems to end. A new phase of me, myself begins.