I could never be a poet

Beautiful song of silence spoken from your singing clock.

Sliding down the rose like spring.

The image of all underrated beauty bursting into well desrved moon-high pride. This site makes my eyes weep muted words.

But my tears don't seem to rhyme.

I plant my seeds but the sleepy earth seems to tired to sprout them.

The rain seems too sad that it does not want to come out and play and feed them life. So i bury my head in fields of sunflowers.

Hoping that their dew wakes the words inside me.

But winter came knocking at my door too quick.

Now the withering sunflower skeletons of yesterday frown in bitter dissapointment.My final run was to the sun.

Hoping that it lit my darkness so that i may find electric words beneath the sands.

But the sun is a jealous one, so we made love.

The rays too bright, i was left blind.

That dreadfull liberal hour now landed on its final secod, dooming me forever. The gift i had in sight was snatched from under my christmas tree of wisdom.

On that hour i would learn i could never create wonders with my words.

.....i could never be a poet.