I am a poet, and I can sense your pain. I am a poet and I can feel the colors on your face. I taste music, I live on the surroundings. Your experience is something that I can visualize. My heart beats like an eremite's- fast, thudding; as it is ever scared- scared of not being able to see. My vision is extraordinary with a slice of realism. I am able to touch- your heart, my soul and millions.
I can smell the spirit of life. Life that is around you and me, but somehow you turn a blind eye to it's beauty while I, observe it's pattern.
But this poet is human too. Too human. I cry and when I do, the tears don't stop. I laugh and when I do, the smile never disappears from my face. I am scared and I'm ashamed of it. When I'm angry, I'm not in control. I'm despicable. I hate it all.
But right now, when that slight breeze, disturbed the strands of hair that lay loose on my shoulders and cooled my back; I colored the paper blue- with my ink, my thoughts.
I am a wanderer, and I discover, I am a lover- all that makes me a poet. I touch it all- your heart, my soul and millions.