Words race
in a poets head.
Are poets born
or do they evolve?
Art student’s are taught
to observe only the
contour of colors
in an object.
Artists ignore the
soul and concentrate
on the outer shell.
Adding their own
consciousness
to complete the work.
A poet digs deep
pushing away visible.
Exposing others.
Stealing their souls
A need to smell
hear the sound of life,
always picking at
the human condition.
Words are our
brushes and colors.
We paint reality on the
colorless canvas of life.

07/09/2003