We understand our partnering in words or we don't...who knows. We cry in the night alone or we touch the others prose. Written there on the pages of the rhyme our forgotten pledges. We push and pull the essence of life out nearer the edges. Anger ..sadness.. passion is it all just a cruel game. Or at the end of our days will the rhyme still sound the same.
Only the one's who have trod the sun drenched meadow's of the mind and found a forge that is , with pen in hand , you become a word smith. A verbal painter , and making a picture out of words alone . POET !