The poet soul feels all and so learns not to cry, yet to knot the truth of existence, to fashion ropes from threads of light, to make possible the escape from the pits others dare not see.
The poet soul goes full raw so that it can go full roar, so it can loose the bounds of mortal men and with free arms offer up thy ink, to knit the the threads, to weave the fabric of divinity.
The poet soul swims beneath the tears, beneath that salty brine, to find the warm currents that carry life onward and support an earth divine.
Poet souls are translate divine currents into words, for they swim in the waters other eyes can neither see nor touch with fanned fin.
The poet soul realises the worth of words, for as they transform emotions they transform reality.