Poet

I am a poet
The horoscopes already
read this fortune but I protested
in my unconscious
No, give me something more
prestigious, more colorful
more of service

No, god roared
This is your calling
to capture the world with sweeps of your
brush, colored by dust olive trees and the
darkness of leaving, running, falling
getting up, persisting, loving
You are an artist,
painting in words
your world

This is your work.
Do not back away,
for you are a poet.

Now, write.