If I were a poet

[tuesday_violets]

There is a poet on the street corner
He spouts his words of wisdom
Idioms spill from his mouth and splash to the ground
Like the fountain flowing in front of his face.
He loves the sound of his own words,
Likes the way they look on paper as he delicately
draws his ribbon of ink across the page, forming verses.
But what does he know of life?
Too many years he's spent with his nose pressed against
a rose-colored window. Everything looks so clear to him.
He thinks he knows everything there is to know.
But what do you get if the only world you know
is clouded by everything you don't know?
A rose-colored poem, that's what.
But if I were a poet, I would tell the world
Of everything I've learned and everything I haven't.
Words would flow from my mouth as steadily as rain,
and time would stop for me,
and beauty would be captured,
and life would be too short for dust.