The Poet

In the dead of the night
In the darkness that lights up the skies
In the silence of the lambs
That’s when I see him

In the eye of the storm
In the center of the hurricane
In my spaced out moments
That’s when he comes

And then he whispers, gently
Of life’s wonders and death’s secrets
Of nature’s kindness and humans’ treachery
And all that doesn’t meet the eye

I don’t always listen to him
Sometimes he errs in his thoughts
Sometimes he talks out of anger
From getting his fragile heart crushed

I’m his only friend
That alone, is the saddest thing
I’ve promised him to always be there
I hope I don’t break this one

He is the unexpressed thoughts
He is the guilt-demon that haunts
He is the urge to create art
He is the bluebird in my heart

He’s the poet that comes…

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