Putting into words what hurts
Is what a poet’s meant to do.
Broken glass and bloodied shirts
Must be traversed to speak what’s true.

Vocabulary’s not enough,
And clever rhymes will bore and tire.
A poet needs much finer stuff
To capture inspiration’s fire.

A brave heart unconfused by tears
To travel deep where feelings grow,
And pass through pain and rage and fears
To where love and love’s passions flow.

That won’t turn from emotions which
Disturb, repulse, or terrify.
A poet fits feelings so rich
Into swift thoughts so they won’t die.

Patience is required too.
And silence, unseen like a ghost,
To still what needs to be pierced through
Then clearly grasp what hides from most.

And vision that sees past what seems
So real to eyes fixed on today
To bring to light those future dreams
For which our hearts silently pray.

But what is needed most is soul,
A soul well traveled through and through,
For poets to fulfill their role
And show what’s in us all to you.