By Steven L Herring

If I were a poet,
I'd be damaged goods
and all the world would whisper
as I sought beauty in the woods

If I were a poet,
a peculiar one I'd be
Robust in every single way
morning, noon, and end of day
all I am is me

If I were a poet,
an oddity in fact,
I'd start my days with gasoline
and the brightness of a match

If I were a poet,
I'd bleed on every page
Silence,
sadness,
laughter,
love;
crescendoing in rage

I am a poet!
A wordsmith if you will
But even if you won't,
a poet I am still!