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The Poet ...

When the tip of his pen strokes sheet
The poet performs his magic on He leaves collection
speak words of his heart
And let fly the evils of my heart *

ruins to which we mere mortals
Are just the remains of a real-time
Become the light hand of poet
castles that are resistant to storms

* What I want to be one of those poets who
transformed into love of simple love affairs
Making sparks with their star
Change the colors of the rainbow sky
*

I would like to scent the air of regret wonders
Give a taste of honey
Put in our eyes a glimmer of hope
that basically we are left without knowing
*

I will lay my dreams on paper
Then I lay at your feet
Words will release
We will just have to harvest them.