a poet's world

@Uootem

In a poet's world no words delay his craft,
for a thesaurus of colorful images is at his beckoning
and pure magic exists when given his ink's hue
as one phrase of emotion invites another.

yet does his world truly exist or
is it only his foolish fantasy
warping his perception of reality?

he gazes at his most recent words of futile hope
written in a quiet time of reflection... because they had to be written
but these pearls of sound.... does she really hear them,
as they speak of a bliss they will not taste together in this lifetime.

yet does his world truly exist...
the world deep inside he knows or
it is just foolish chimera?

his poetry is only a ensanguined dream that lays bleeding
as it stains the senseless images he uses to form the words.
the poet's world is quite a different place seen through irrational eyes
that are reflected in the window glass, where he fingers another heart shape in the fog.

yet does his world truly exist or
in his imagination's folly...
is insanity his reasoning?

the poet's heart accepts what suffering it must,
as word by word, it owns the emotions of freeform style
until the pieces fit into romanticized verses... yet he is so weary of flowing ink,
so anxious for a morning, where birds sing of hope's renewal.

yet does his world truly exist or
are the sky, the stars, the universe all there is...
and is there nothing more to understand?