Am I a poet or the poem itself?
A question deep, my soul begins to dwell,
In verses, does my essence truly dwell,
Or in the words I craft, like art on shelf?
The pen, an extension of my very core,
With ink, I weave emotions into song,
Yet is it I who's singing all along,
Or does the poem's spirit freely soar?
I ponder as I chase each metaphor,
In stanzas, I'm a vessel and a guide,
But does the muse within me truly bide,
Or does the poem breathe forevermore?
In verses, I find self and poem entwined,
A dance of words, heart, and soul combined