who sees poetry in the death
of a leaf and its demise
as it tumbles down
onto the bitter, hard ground.
who hears music in the wind’s
constant whisper,
in its silence,
and in its screams.
who feels the rhythm in the beats
of monotony.
who senses the beauty, the pain,
the love, and the emotion
in the nature of life.
who knows everything
is worthy to be captivated, captured,
and treasured forever
is someone–
who was born
with a pen in their hand,
who is destined to write.

They see the world
as their muse,
accepting it all as nothing
but art.


34 thoughts on “Poets

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