What is it that poets <br />Always dream of, <br />Pouring their nerves, <br />Pouring all the poison that <br />They receive as a gift <br />From this world? <br /> <br />Why do they even <br />Dare to dream? <br />Don’t they know that <br />They are creatures <br />Worth humiliating, <br />Worth denying, <br />Worth the poison? <br /> <br />Yes, dreams do live in them, <br />But the outside is always a storm, <br />Inner cyclone, inner typhoon, <br />Never shall this place, <br />Be their world! <br /> <br />Never! <br /> <br />Rebel souls, yet mature minds, <br />Contradictions that kill them <br />Minute after minute, <br />And they slowly fade, <br />As they poetry becomes more <br />Powerful... <br />But is it enough? <br /> <br />Is it enough? <br /> <br />What do you do when you cannot live? <br />What do you do when the dreams you <br />Have are impossible to reach <br />Yet they are written in your soul, <br />You cannot wipe them away, <br />No matter how hard you try! ! ! <br /> <br />Death comes easily, <br />Only death and storm I feel now, <br />Dreaming of death <br />And <br />Living the storm! <br /> <br />©Elya Thorn. Do not republish without permission!<br /><br />Elya Thorn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poet-s-dream/
