A Poets Journey

Sometimes I choose to cloak a poem, hiding riddles deep within Seek and you will surely find, The truth is wearing a grin When a poet has matured, and he sees the edge of time The fear of death awaits them, so they hide between the lines As the sun is rising from his bed, they hang their words to dry Some are sitting year to year until a reader passes by They crawl out of their trenches Speaking the writers heart They hear of those rejected, singing dirges in the dark Blood and sweat, some regrets, these are the cobblestones of our days My favorite poems, I treasure most, were friends I met along the way