One Unique Woman's Words

Poetry, Prose, Rhyme and Verse

I offer you an opinion of a poet;

What is a poet? 
What is the job description?
A person who creates Word pictures 
Designed to evoke heightened feelings. 
Giving rise to various and strong emotions, 
Creating in another a sense of awe and wonder.
One who offers their reader an alternate reality
Filled with life’s truths in a palatable morsel

Word pictures are the poets’ world
All he wants is to be heard 
His truths trapped within his words.
Much like the musician whose truth 
Lay trapped within the notes he scribes 
The story he intends to tell through sound.
The poet tells through his ability to produce 
Vivid pictures in the mind of the reader. 

And if done well …

The reader becoming temporarily lost in the poets’ world 
Living there within the dream 
Created by a master crafter of words.
Sensing depth and understanding 
Conveyed within his words 
The mysteries of life lived and life lost. 
Through the poets understanding 
An extension of himself through his words.

If you were to ask, what does poetry mean to me?
It is the very breath I take
Necessary to all that lives within my being.
It gives meaning to my life
Provides sustenance to my body.
Vision to my soul, of my purpose here.

The choice to live a writer’s life 
Should not be undertaken lightly
It is not the easiest of paths to trod
As one might see it to be.
Yet it is one of great rewards, and victories
And also, one of tremendous responsibility. 
Considering you hold the world captive
By the very words you dare to utter
And truths you speak.
The ability to change people and countries 
With your very thoughts.

Yes tis a noble task indeed to live a poets dream
To show life for what it is
To see in life and death what can be seen 
And then offer it up to others 
Through your words and imagery.
Standing on a precipice between worlds
A poet lifts his pen
As sonnets pour fourth, held in love and truth.
He is drawn to the heights of the heavens 
Then finds himself in the depths of hell
Yet there be no poet that would trade his world 
For any other that exists.
For the poet and his words are one
Gladly chained to this existence
Till his existence is done

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