Here sits a poet,
A constellation  of thoughts,
A colourful sunset of rhythms,
Meteors of rhymes.
With pen in hand, by lamplight,
Only a poet knows
to create order from chaos,
His every word on paper flows,
Spinning dreams, emotions and wishes,
Whence the threads of figure of speech weaves,
A never-ending  tapestry of  poems.
Choreographing each stanza to be awesome,
Dancing over the meter,
Painting each picture to better,
The character,merit and existence,
Of what each poem means.
7/4/2019