As gentle a poet, in his own words, he may write
From his picture guesses, some rivers will run
A gesture as in he may or may not use imagination
By writing over his rainbows underneath his Sun.
Polite and adverse using more words than he can
Messing up arteries where his pen had poured red
Flustering over his madness, boiling over some point
Bare his heart out to the Lane to the lamb of the dead.
He who stands alone beside his desired station
Played on a Manhattan\'s Moon silhouettes face
Where in his world of politics, poems and pain
He rewrites it over again with flair and his grace.
And although he makes of kind-hearted stress
Laughing along with the love of his masterly win
That from the notes of his alphabet may squabble
To his kindness committed foremost and his within.
As gentle a poet, as gentle as his heart may bleed
Outwards and forthcoming, his taking and giving
He\'ll kneel down before the altar of his own work
To break free of trade and learn to love his writing
His mosaic of composing what he feels is best
From each corner of his circle, he\'ll be a square
Nervously seeking for the world to make amends
And to treat his patients and to trust in being fair.
Although sometimes a poet may become conflicted
Due to these visions, he percieves super impressed
Colours spread across his oceans of deep despair
Shall serve to agree or disagree for never the less.
A distinction of honesty, persistence and hope
Delivered on paper with a whole bunch of new
In knowing his fate at the success of his stories
Ringing out loud, calling all readers of the truth.
Sat away in his tiny cottage, in Austria will do
Jollying on with his craft of learning to be okay
And with his smile from here to there in a life
Clasping his magic wand within a world away.
As gentle a poet as indeed he stays too close
Inside his heart dreaming is something he felt
Towards the healing of his emotions he shows
The enormous congregation that he shall help.
His golden ticket arrives through his letterbox
Revealing his rewards to the world he spoke
Being his humbled self to just wait for and see
The beginnings of his fortunes filled with hope.
His swan blackens the darker side to poetry
As he brightens up the day with his own book
For his confidence in completing daily chores
Mundane love inspires the love that he took.
To wake up to a hot summer out on his lawn
With his heart upon his shoulders, he shakes
Grasping at thoughts as the night turns to dawn
Beautifully written poems from the words he takes.
Constantly comparing to other poets in need
Sharing confusion, frustration and his plays
About Shakespeare, he writes and takes heed
As his dreams conjure up something each day.
As gentle a poet, as gentle as a babies touch
To stitch-up together and to remember he will
Keep him thriving before it becomes too much
And to thank his pen for writing what he feels.