The Eyes Of a Poet

    Although I have never encountered such a being, I will not deny the gratitude I feel for him.

What, you call me bluff?

There's a person we all imprint in the stars, a person we all label as divine, whom we do not truly know.
For better or for worse.

But, tell me that you cannot conjure up this person. I see him now.

He does not see me, but I am drawn to him like an infant flower is drawn to the sun. Raising my head to bask in the glory of the it, whilst it unknowingly provides life for thousands.

He is a poet.

His words form prodigious mountains, structured by layers of theater and song and dance. He gives hope and revival and joy to many.
Each song lathered in emphasis and meaning, each word born like a sculpture chiseled from an unknowing rock.
There is meaning to every word, every beautiful sculpture, and they all so beatifically string together to form an exhibit in a museum, the lyrics to a musical.

He gives life to each word, his greatness bleeding out and pulsing into the shaping of each word and every tune.
He worries about his time left on this Earth, he worries about accomplishment. See it through his pen, confidently flowing over the paper, urgent in its writings.

And I laugh to myself.
He has already done so much, this wondrous poet.
Can he not see the affects of his words?
Surely, I do not doubt him.
He is humble in his approaches, diligent in his work.
However, I cannot help myself.
I wish to express to him how flawlessly his words dance into the minds of many, forever changing them.

His words.
They fall so intelligently from his mouth, each punctuated with excitement and thankfulness and determination. I fondly look at the side notes that scatter throughout the margins in his work, wondering to myself how genius this man must be.

And no, he never once lets out a chaff or arrogant remark. This surging energy he has, this infectious personality who has reached millions through cadenced songs and plays, is never persuaded by arrogance.  I cannot help but to be deeply respectful of this poet, this genius play-write.

He is quite a being, if his likeliness can make hearts swell without ever meeting them in person.

And there's always something that portrays greatness in such a person.

Eyes.

Look into the eyes of a poet, wander in their gaze. Walk through the halls of tireless wonder, the slopes of determination.
See the creases that so delicately compliment the corners of those eyes,
See the lines that form those eyes into delicate pebbles smoothed by the ocean's water.
Pebbles that faced the millions of sweeps and sways and push of the ocean water.
Eyes that have seen the struggles that life provides, eyes that have fought back and won through glorious palaces of words and poetry.

The eyes of a poet.
A worker.
A fighter.
A hero.