What is it to be a poet?
Oh, I wish that I knew,
how do I paint the sky in words?
Without calling it blue?

As a poet can see,
what is blind to many eyes.
How they see through the fog,
of a world full of lies.

Oh, to be a poet,
is a blessing in disguise.
How do I write my heart ?
When it's plotting my demise.

A poet's life, is a life filled with pain,
bearing a burden they can't explain,
so they sit alone and write a verse,
and wonder, if poetry is a curse.

Oh I wish to be a poet,
allow my heart to feel it's pain,
to use curse of poetry,
to mend my heart again.