Magic Reapers

Charmed Chaos

I can tell you I spend my days talking to the singing birds or
conversing with my little dog, who understands every word

My neighbors know nothing of me or what’s churning in my heart
I doubt they know my name, much less my poetic arts

When you say to someone ‘I’m a poet’, they look at you and stare
as if you are an abstract human with horns and flaming hair

And so I have no words to say, because I know there’s little use
unless you are a passionate writer, you have no heavenly clue

So a toast to all my comrade poets, my artistic moon dreamers
who soar among celestial stars for we are the magic reapers

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