What is a poet?
A solitary lake shallow on the edges…deep and vast at the belly of the beast?
A keeper of few within her soul’s home?
A fractured window omitting promises of hope peppered with disdain.
The owner of a little circle as close knit…
as a pair of Grandma’s macrame Christmas sleepers!
What is a poet? An unhappy man (woman) who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music…. And people flock around the poet and say: ‘Sing again soon’ – that is, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music, that is blissful.