An Ode To The Poets

I wonder what it is that keeps the poets alone

They sit and they write with their hearts that should be turned into stone

Broken down a few too many times

By the people they gave their souls to

Wrapped in the biggest, most beautiful bows

Their tears became each letter

That makes up each word they write

And each word placed perfectly together

As they send their love back up to the sky

Their poems can touch the hearts of many

Make others feel less alone

But why do poets still have to suffer,

Even after being stripped down right to the bone?

I know their musings are healing

I know they can speak to the crowds

But is it really fair?

When they deserve each spark of sun

But have to constantly send their hearts up to the clouds?

I wonder what it is that keeps the poets alive

Is it really just the stroke of the pen?

I might write one poem of happiness

But I see my pain bleed into hundreds

And I can see now

There's a reason I write

All poets seemed to have lived thousands of lives

The wisdom we can send through just a single line

Can be enough to make someone else feel seen and heard

At least for a short amount of time

I think we're kept alone for a reason

We're on a different journey than most

We embody the world's sad feelings

So that they can have a voice

Instead of haunting us as ghosts

Ghosts of our pasts

Ghosts of our future

Each haunting made clearer

By the words and descriptors

Of the poets who are brave enough to survive a hurricane of emotion

Because a poet's words are just their way of showing love and dedication and truth and devotion