You ask me what a true poet is
Do you know what I think?
There´s more to a poet
Than their tears and their ink

There is hope on that paper
With dreams in each word
You love then you hate her
Some letters are blurred

There is passion, there´s comfort
A moment preserved in time
Piece of a heart, piece of a soul
Between every line
All of the thoughts that can´t be defined

There is confusion and tension
Happy and fearful days
Not just paper and pencil
But a whole life on that page

There´s sadness, there´s strength
You live and you die
A poet feels content
But then the ink starts to dry

The way her eyes play with my mind,
And God said, "she's a different kind".
A deep ocean lies in her hair,
Where I drown in just a stare.

Like the mellow strings of a guitar,
Her music flows to lands afar.
When drops of rain lay on a rose,
I dream ecstatically of holding her close.

I fear of my arms being empty,
But my broken heart feels guilty.
I gave my soul for her to rule,
But she uses it merely as a tool.

Time turned everything upside down,
Compelled my smile to become a frown.
I'm now just a petty attraction for her,
To be worthy of love might take forever.