SOUL OF A POET

Often, 

I flip through my poetry 
in awe….. 
Of course, it came not 
from my pen, 
but like the little elves 
to the shoemaker’s help, 
I know 
It's the soul of a poet 
who rides in 
On the tail of a comet 
blazing soundlessly, 
Across aeons 
and azure blue seas, 
In the magical hours 
between asleep and awake, 
And writes my poetry 
for me. 
I know who it belongs to 
And sometimes it comes 
not to write, 
But to live with me

my poems 
that are waiting, 
to come awake, breathlessly.... 

MS