A poem I wrote tossing around the idea of poetry, more specifically, the men and women who create it.
How does one become a poet?
What makes them who they are?
They can’t all be the stereotypical
romantics we envision, can they?
Who are the Poets?
They could be any one of us
and we would never know.
The old man in the coffee shop,
the young lady walking her dog.
How does one become a poet?
What makes us who we are?
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