Poetry / just a crying poet

a crazy poet, dark in light and white in dark
pure heart, yet anger is deep in his gut.
his best companion, a dead rock he found
while walking by the grey river at night.

the poet knew three things
love, hate, and lust
his best guard and shield a self made hope
to one day find his love amor.

in one hand his mind was leaking dreams into the wind.
in the other his life, filled with numerous wounds.
the false love had done its job with lies knives
a wolf had eaten almost all of it, he still lives.

his story was made by the illusion of finding what God gave us,
the right to love and be loved, yet in destinies mind
we are just here to be its puppets until we die.
his best allies, time and reason. why should the poet cry?

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