The poet
I am the one who makes disasters,
in the white suffice of a blank paper,
but all that is done has its purpose,
if you lived a part of what is written.

I am the one who is to blame,
for the ink stains all over the table.
I am to blame for what is broken,
but no one asks who created the pieces.

I am the one with muses all over,
I can find them in crystal skys so deep.
Under the tree of what is forgotten,
and strong inside the feelings.

I am forever a part of a song.
A melody stuck in your mind.
But what time, does it cost to think?
I am the lyrics you can not find.

I am the one who paints without color,
No need for rainbows of hues.
But I can highlight in my own border,
I have the pen I have the right so to do.

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