If I Were a Real Poet

If I were a real poet
I would confess
That I hide between the lines –
That every poem I write
Holds the shredded parts
Of my tattered soul
Scattered mongst the runes
Upon the stones –
Yet I leave them there
For you to find
Having rummaged through
The blather
Of my often
Quite peculiar
Muddled mind

If I were a real poet
I could profess
That I have always loved you –
That every verse that I may write
Holds the fragments of my heart
Still touching yours
Scattered mongst the lifetimes
We have known –
Yet I leave them there
For you to find
Having borne the light
The darkness
Of my often
Quite peculiar
Musing mind

If I were a real poet
I would confess
That my words may never find you –
That every lyric I may write
Holds the scent of every touch
That intertwined
Scattered mongst the wind
Like fine cologne
Yet I leave them there
For you to find
Having loved me
Through the tempest
Of my often
Quite peculiar
Muddled mind

Michael33

Wishing you a most beautiful day…