The heart of a poet
Is a difficult one to understand
Complex in nature
And a challenge to read
With convictions and thoughts
That run deeper than you think

Don't mistake my empathy for weakness
Or my smile for innocence
To speculate is not to know

My eyes are windows
To the beautiful madness
That is my soul

I see things for more than just what they are
But for what they could be
Finding the meaning in everything

You may think I'm too sentimental
Or in tune with my emotions
But that doesn't bother me
Why stay on the surface
When their are such depths as the Ocean

So stand my fellow poets
And raise up your pens
And lets show this world what were made of
One word at a time
This art to never end

Standing on the curb
Watching your other self
Pass you by, waving as they pass
Do you get up and go find yourself
Or do you wait for yourself
To come back to yourself?

A question I asked myself countless times
Times when I felt like I wasn't being real
To my true self
Life is sometimes cruel
With its trials and tribulations
To the point where one has to leave
Ones truest convictions
To pursue a life of less substance

Thinking about the fellow
Who looked like a replica of me earlier
I examined myself and how my life
Has taken turns to the unknown
Crisscrossing into an unknown maze
Knotting and unknitting
Right in front of my eyes
I sometimes sit and wonder
What I had done with the thread of life
Cause I'm at the point of choking myself
With every move I make

The next minute I found myself lost
In the beautiful words by a wonderful poet
That I hold dear
And she said:
"It is the very liquid soul
That oozes from this pores
To light the sidewalks with our magic
Beyond the distant shores
It is the joy from which the laughter
Of the dying is drawn"

Sitting in my apartment
Later still, that same evening
I got rudely awaken by an abrupt call
From the police department
When I was asked to identify my own body.