Poets do not use ink when they write; they use their very own blood!
The words spill from the heart onto the page like a great flood.
The result is a document, if you will, of severe passion.
The true poet is not concerned with style or fashion.
What is important to them is trying to capture the absolute truth.
Their desire is to add the wisdom of the ages to the fallacies of youth.
A Herculean effort is required to attempt never mind accomplish this task.
It takes tremendous courage to stare in the mirror and remove the mask.
The poet must then cut a vein and bleed.
Pour their heart’s liquid onto the page and watch it feed.
The letters of blood are arranged into words and then lines.
The poem begins to grow and climb like vines.
The weeds are pulled at the root and the ground is methodically tilled.
The poet’s heart does not stop pumping until every last drop is spilled.