Writers: The Love Poet

The love poet pens his sweet words about love;

Who knows where they come from, his heart, God above?

The source does not matter, but what the words say

Can lead to a blessing in someone's new day.

The love poet's gift is that poets can hear

The words, thoughts and feelings that others may fear;

He plays with his words, sometimes wrestles in vain

To fully express what he knows is man's pain.

The love poet e'er has his own unique art

With words that express what he feels in his heart.

His thoughts pouring forth through a tool, yes, his pen;

The poet employs it, again and again.

So tragic, the world may not e'er understand,

That love rules the world and each part of the land.

The love poet's words others may not perceive;

The things he would write, they may never believe.

The love poet's work will continue o'er time,

Sometimes, but not always, it's written in rhyme.

The poet, in silence, his gift does not shirk,

Alone comprehending the worth of his work.

So blessed, the love poet, the person who knows,

That each love seed planted, is one that soon grows.

One day, someone harvests the fruit he has sown,

Love seeds, he has planted, well tended, once sown.    

The poet forgotten, words lost, or soon gone;

Yet sometimes, they surface again, with new dawn.

Horizons extended, that offer new light,

Can bring to the whole world, a unique delight. 

Is it only the love poet who truly understands his words?