What is it that poets
Always dream of,
Pouring their nerves,
Pouring all the poison that
They receive as a gift
From this world?
Why do they even
Dare to dream?
Don’t they know that
They are creatures
Worth humiliating,
Worth denying,
Worth the poison?
Yes, dreams do live in them,
But the outside is always a storm,
Inner cyclone, inner typhoon,
Never shall this place,
Be their world!
Never!
Rebel souls, yet mature minds,
Contradictions that kill them
Minute after minute,
And they slowly fade,
As they poetry becomes more
Powerful...
But is it enough?
Is it enough?
What do you do when you cannot live?
What do you do when the dreams you
Have are impossible to reach
Yet they are written in your soul,
You cannot wipe them away,
No matter how hard you try! ! !
Death comes easily,
Only death and storm I feel now,
Dreaming of death
And
Living the storm!
©Elya Thorn. Do not republish without permission!
Elya Thorn
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poet-s-dream/
