I am a Poet

I am a poet,

Of the rich and the poor,

Try to read the feelings,

And with the aid of human alphabets, paint.  

 

I ask myself at this moment with grave emotion,

Can a poem ever be finished?

The answer ‘NO’ is echoed from within,

Only precious ash is left after desertion.

 

Before penning a poem I thought of Baudelaire and rose,

To “always be a poet, even in prose”.