the poet valley

Isn't it stange

to live the life of a poet

and never once

the muse of a poem?

But in the poet valley;

I was born there

in marigold fields of agony,

and thistling pines of hurt

where only the snow-veiled summits

can echo my true words' worth.

Oh, how I long for the valley;

where the ardent rivers glow —

in the cherry blossom meadow

where poets wander alone.

For my beloved,

I do not belong here

in eavesdropping sleaze,

and name-cursing venues.

Swiftly I must depart now

before I become the muse.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/RUa7zbgCzh

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/kVVA2KwsWu