We are the Poets

Discreetly called as maniacs, we are the Poets,

However we might be enveloped,
by the beloved or significant others,
A vague desolation secretly bothers,
with which we are forever swaddled,

We look like humans, but lead the dynasty of owls,
During days we dream, 
At night we breathe in otherworldly realms,
In the absence of words, our inner wolves incessantly howl,

We seek endlessly,
for a strange void continues to dwell,
like an ever rising seclusion's swell,
and we end up as givers, repeatedly,

We pledge our souls earnestly,
assuming the destination as our wholesomeness,
But donning the cloak of righteousness,
The taker leaves us with self pity,

But we are poets, seekers for life,
Treading ahead, nothing do we forget,
journeying with words, until the 'one' we have met,
as we continue to battle our ceaseless inner strife........

(c) S.S