The Poet Who Chose to Become a Poem
He wrote of stars that trembled in the night,
Of rivers carrying forgotten dreams;
He carved the silence into words of light,
And painted truth upon the world's extremes.
Yet one day, weary of the written page,
He sought a verse no mortal hand could frame;
To leave behind not ink upon an age,
But breathe forever as a living name.
He gave his laughter to the morning skies,
His tears became the rain on barren ground;
His wounds became the songs of lullabies,
His footsteps turned to verses all around.
And when his voice was lost beyond the sea,
The world read on — the poem he chose to be.
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