Less of a Poet

I watch the time pass by
Like headlights burning fast
The rain comes down to remind me
That every moment cannot last

I turn the TV off
And stare through the glass
Perfectly alone
With watercolor hands

I walk so slowly
To the sound of my own steps
Thinking of the coldness
In the things I never said

I close my eyes
Ready to disappear
Replay the whole damn day
And feel the ending near

If I could leave myself
For one day, for one night
Step outside this dragging body
And watch life open wide

Maybe I would change
Every road I planned
I would be less of a poet
And a little more man

The walls begin to breathe
The lights are fading out
And every frame around me
Stares with fury now

The stars above keep burning
Like torches made of white
So beautiful and distant
So cold they freeze the night

All these years
I chased perfection
All these years
I sank in illusion

What is the answer?
Where does the heart begin?
Will I die after the birth
Of the greatest song within?

If I could leave myself
For one day, for one night
Step outside this dragging body
And watch life open wide
Maybe I would change
Every road I planned
I would be less of a poet
And a little more man

What is a poet doing here
On this wounded earth?
Where is the hidden portal
To the heart's rebirth?

Do I leave my dreams behind?
Do I walk where no road returns?
Do I bury every illusion
And despise what beauty burns?

If I get another chance
Make me a carpenter
Let my hands build something real
Let my blood remember earth

Less ink
More skin
Less prayer
More breath
Less wound
More life
Less poem
More human

If I could leave myself
For one day, for one night
Step outside this dragging body
And watch life open wide
Maybe I would change
Every road I planned
I would be less of a poet
And a little more man

If I could leave myself
For one day, for one night
Step outside this dragging body
And watch life open wide
Maybe I would change
Every road I planned
I would be less of a poet
And a little more man

I would leave without a destination
Searching for my lost horizon

Just a backpack
And one fragile plan
To be less of a poet
And more human

For one day
Or one night

Enough to be a lifetime
If the ink does not run dry