I Wish I Could Be a Poet

Sometimes…I wish I could be like those poets,

who spin rhymes and nuances out of air.

What a life, what a way to survive.

In this devastating and ridiculous world.

Where you can’t make orange rhyme and prayers are sent to a question mark.

Poets dream of worlds with no words.

Ironic huh?

They see where emotions are made, where happiness is an elephant rolling down a hill into a pile of leaves and fury is a gigantic red balloon about to pop and burst every-one’s ear drums.

In this place of absurdities and beauty,

words are obsolete.

So these magnificent writers of dreams,

scribes of the unknown,

take it and mold ink around laughter and tears and heart break and ice cream

They let us, mere readers,

become a part of the wordless dance,

we all belong to.

SO yeah,

I wish I could be like the poets,

subscribe myself to the plethora of synonyms,

rhymes and articulated grunts that those day dreaming buffoons,

tap into with just a pen and paper.

What a life, what a way to survive