Only A Poet Can Cry

Only a poet can laugh..I say only a poet can cry
As I lost myself before your very eyes..
A poet can cry an ocean, maybe an ocean or two. 
As if he's breaking heart, even if he does not,
Realise or not why, he's crying !!
As rivulets are flowing like a water fall, from high above
Like curtains he hides behind, the water falling 
Hiding away from a world and never return,
To the times when he was having fun,
Writing about everything under the sun
It worried him not, if he could say or not what's in his mind..
He realised he was too vocal, 
Too vocal for a world that cared not,
What he thought or not..for all and sundry,
So curbing he's ways he started to shy away,
No freedom in what he was writing, 
If he had to curb his mind his thoughts that's not the way,
Letting go like a loose cannon loose down a mountain,
That's how it was In pain he was, he's heart breaking.
For the one he thought the most, 
The one who taught him to feel with ones mind ones soul,
That once was dead living in a limbo until he came up and set him free,
Freed from that dead living limbo..
Wasn't around when there was need, of someone to care to praise or not..
As I've lost him along the way..
I know I've never had him in any sense of the word ..
Just in his mind his heart his soul.
As tears flowed anguished in mind thinking or not, 
When he stopped being there to support or not being the case in his mind,
So the poet cried when he lost himself before your very eyes,
For he thought you cared not whether he should write or not. 
But in he's heart he could not,
Could not write another word as if his life depended or not.
On his written words..Or maybe not.

                                 By Connie James.