The Poetic Curse

Why is it that just some of us are so cursed  
Been giving this heavy, painful gift of being poets  
 
Yes, we are the chosen few who truly feel and dream  
Walk alone with our heightened emotions and eloquency  
 
Trudging thru the snow of the solitary life  
Trying to make sense of this fragility of being human  
 
Listening to the voices of our soul as it dances and falls  
Capturing the essence of what it means to live and die  
 
Sometimes the path is gentle, with the sun on our back  
Other times the cold winds blow echoing loneliness  
 
But always lurking in the thickening wood, doubt  
Like a wolf that stalks us and threatens to devour  
 
Still, along the way we find shiny nuggets  
Elements of truth and precious authenticity  
 
Sometimes we are even blessed to find poetry's purpose  
What Poe referred to as suffering beauty  
 
Thankfully we are not alone, there are others of our kind  
Fellow brave souls unafraid to feel, to poet  
 
While some do lash out and wound with hurtful correction  
Most are gentle, reassuring spirits who encourage and affirm  
 
Sitting with us by the fire and baring their souls  
Reminding us that we really aren't alone  
 
Together we recite, reflect, and feel
Sharing and reveling in naked vulnerability