FOR THE ONES WHO KNOW

I know i've read many a poem,
Of love, of pain, of tenderness and gain,
I know i've read many a poem,
Where beauty becomes beast and love births
pain,

And i know I've read of bravery,
Of truth and of crave,
Of men who saw life in a grave,
I know I've read poems of
nothing,
Of emptiness and of praise,

I've read and I've read,
And i've read when i wrote,
Saw men who fell and in pain did dote,
And in reading, read in lives of men,
From a child in a moving car,
Who giggled "mommy the trees are running"
To that man across the street who have loved even in hurt,

It's not that poetry is love or pain or beauty defined,
It's not justice or lie or truth to be told,
In nothingness it was birthed,
In nothingness it thrives,

It is nothing, it is everything,
For i lie not when i say "i held the heavens in a drop of water",
But then i say not the truth for the heavens fit not in that drop,

But then I've spoken the truth,
And i told a lie,
The heavens gave life to that dew,
And it lives in it,
It fits not the heaven into itself,
But it is the heaven,

And in a dew I've seen love and beauty,
In admiration of its beauty
I've felt pain and sadness,
And in that dew i've seen nothing and everything,

It's not about the truth neither is it about the lie,
It's not about the words nor the lines,
For what holds true for the rain, holds not true for the rain,
And tomorrow your truth can become your lie,

And in the end when all is said and done,
Truth is the man who desires the truth,
And though many men will claim a dew cannot contain the heavens,
It remains my truth for i have seen the heavens in a dew,

Life is nothing and Life is everything,
And the best poems are those written, when a man sees life where life is not.