F a poet speaks

A poet speaks.

here i sit night after night
my minds eye robbed of sight
as words takes flight,standing still
waching me kneel like a hindu fakir begging for a drop of
revelelation.
Oh God of poetry!
Was there evere a poet like me in the world before?

poetry to me is the unveiling of life mystery
what men seek nbut never find
not quoxotic dreams that stink like abad case of halitosis
but was the voice that spoke
when the world kept mute like valery on a tweenty year haitus of honest
silence.

my art? an invoilable border!
unvoilated by the hands of time
Even in the coldest winter
When words travel incognito
and springs clings perilously to threads of hope
My poetry retains the intergrity of a pope.
if it is yours keep it, mine was found in the house of pantheon
A legend inimitable like the loepards skin
A style as old as the first sin
what ever is written in a poets blood clings like a gypsy curse
and boils like a lava pulse.

Darned this weary talk of meters and ryhmes
Skills and ties!
Until dust becomes flesh
till the universe give birth
i remain what i was
In the begining i was
I was that,that was
Remember i was the only thing that was
when there was nothing that was!