I once longed to be a poet,But now, it matters not if you call me one.Even without a grand debut,Dozens of my poems are already here, breathing on their own.As I pour my heart’s thoughts, line by line, into poetic diction,As I shape my infinite emotions, row by row, into verse,That fleeting moment of bliss is the poetic immortal1) awakening my soul.A poet is no one of grand distinction.It is simply the act itself:Pouring out passion and soul with paper and pen,Writing with a heart that remains unfailingly true.Unbound by the frames the world has set,Singing only in a language that is mine alone,I am a humble and imposing poet.I once longed to be a poet,Yet now, you need not call me one.If, perchance, someone finds a profound echo within my poetry,Would that not be a legacy finer than Shakespeare’s poetry?
1) Poetic Immortal : A genius poet, a Taoist hermit with miraculous powers.