The Poet Poem by ray summer

The heart of a poet beats out of time,
in rhythms that reason cannot define,
it bleeds in tears soft and slow,
where silence speaks and wild things grow,

it sees the world in layers of light,
in storms at noon and stars at night,
where others walk the poet flies,
on paper wings through tear stained skies,

each heartbeat crafts a hidden truth,
a fragile echo of a long lost youth,
each sigh of breath raw and bare,
whispers what no one else will care,

the heart of a poet breaks with grace,
then writes a poem in that empty space,
It loves to deep it dreams to wide,
It hides that fire that flickers inside,

so if you find one treat it well,
a poet's heart you can not buy nor sell,
It lives to feel and it dies to write,
like a candle burning all through the night.