The Poet

Your pen traces the curves of the human heart with grace

Your pen traces the curves of the human heart with grace
Your fingers graze the page as your mind honors
Words your heart whispers as succor and solace.

Without rest or respite you bend time and space
Spinning stories, vanquishing visions, merging metaphors
Your pen traces the curves of the human heart with grace.

Language is the refuge where you found your place
The tool helping you transcend past errors
Words your heart whispers as succor and solace.

Your love for your craft is etched on your face
Alive with the alchemy of lost forevers
Your pen traces the curves of the human heart with grace.

You build magical worlds at your own gentle pace
Chiseling and carving lines that read like love letters
Words your heart whispers as succor and solace.

Your allegiance to poetry I have come to embrace
It is your raison d’être, your treasure trove of powers
Your pen traces the curves of the human heart with grace
Words your heart whispers as succor and solace.

“Ser poeta não é uma ambição minha. É a minha maneira de estar sozinho.”
Fernando Pessoa

I’m a French-American writer, journalist, and editor living out of a suitcase in transit between North America and Europe. To continue the conversation, follow the bird. For email and everything else, deets in bio.

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