The poet writes not what he sees. He writes what he wished he could see. There's a subtle difference. All his poems art utter trash. in the world so heartlessly practical. For his vision is as convoluted as his wishes.
I wish I was a poet to be able to view the world through a prism. But I'm not. So I have to make do with second best.
What is reality? That which hurts That is pain? That which is sublime. What is love? That which hurts most. What is fear? That which degrades. What is greed? That which dehumanizes. What is hurt? That which is caused by love.
So many questions, so many answers. I write what I feel. That's why I'm am not a poet. For a poet peers through his prism and thanks his stars for seeing a rainbow.