A poet's poem

My love is different,
It is one with life.
With the joy it throws,
With the sorrow it catches.
My soul is but a poem,
Lost in translation of time.
Years of toil and rewards alike,
Some praised,others jibed.
I am naked in my thoughts,
Feverishly burning in my mind.
Too timid to admit my bravery,
Too brave to let go off my timidity.
There is me and my world,
All wrapped up in a priceless gift.
The sun's glory will shine upon thee,
Longer will the poetry flow in me.
An unimaginable warmth it echoes,
A revelry of highest order it shows.
Life is but a poem of experience,
I am but a traveler of my own expense.