Poetry - "The Poet"

I believe it is the poet who dies a myriad of deaths.

I see goodbyes that provoke panic that causes him to hold on too tightly –

Sending copious amounts of love to even those who don’t deserve it.

I see hellos that incite a riot of jubilation in his word-stitched heart that cause him to

Mistakenly see the good in all –

Only to agonize over every word spoken and every action witnessed.

Emotions are not simply felt by him –

They are lived.

They define him. They sculpt him –

Every sentiment marrying an equal or opposite sentiment to create

A symphony –

A composition of disorganized passion that constantly crescendos.

I believe the poet is devotion.

He is abhorrence.

He is virtue; he is corruption.

He is both you and me.

But he is never

Indifference.

Never.

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