A Poet Like Me

I walked into the venue to listen to him speak 
he was one of the best, at the pinnacle at his peak. 
I was told he brought words constructively fashioned 
to take others to places with violent reaction. 

Alone walking in, back left, I take a chair 
sensing the excitement in the thick of the air. 
Ambiance was quite nice, the vibe no doubt relaxing, 
I quickly move to the front without a thought of asking.

I needed to have a good view of who I came to see, 
to feel the force of his voice cause he was a poet, like me. 

Lights turn down dim as I sit, waiting for him 
in hopes his set will be first, I felt patiently nervous, 
mouth desert dry and I’m slowly dying of thirst. 

Now, a drink from the bar is not what I was after
but the quench from the flow of this master-piece crafter. 

He’s at the top of his game, prized poems in his pocket, 
so I knew when he stepped to the stage he would rock it.

Sound transmitter’s warmed up, on set first he was not,
Then he steps up, takes the mic, and proceeds to make it hot.
The audience gets quiet, now he’s in the light’s spot…

His lips gently he licks, then he walks forward 
to spit remarkable lyrics and my heart takes the hit. 
His flow was sooo sick with jaw-dropping appeal, 
words in atmospheres entangled in depths I could feel. 

His sound flew past my ears like the speed of light,
in the stillness of time, an experience in flight.
He dropped knowledge with drama, spoke of Israel and Obama 
He was clearly well-read I felt I could get in his head
cause he was a poet, like me.

By the time he was through, I felt attacked, like by a lion. 
Others paused in deep thought, some even walked out of
there cryin’, he was just that deep.

He reminded me of why I truly honor this gift,
like the value of gold found after a miner’s sift.
Or like a pearl obtained after prying open one’s soul,
to take a mind by what it knew and cause thoughtful control.

He possessed that ability, all of it and much more,
greater volumes of his craft I felt compelled to explore. 
We had much more in common above what I thought before. 
By then I realized, he was definitely far more than
just a poet, like me.

He communicated with an intensity only a veteran could bring. 
He used utterances that cut and poured in rhymes that would sting. 
He was no ordinary poet with a passion for his art, see,
he painted imagery on canvases with colors from his heart.

If I could be that great, harbor skill like his within,
expressing and releasing words bound no longer by sin. 
Since fear is my sin, like him, I can never fully share
this treasure the Creator has placed in my care.

I was privileged to meet him after the show,
approached him timidly, though my face showed a glow. 
He smiled at me and winked, said he thought I was cute,
from then and there I knew that my character he’d suit.

Across the street we had coffee and conversation was on point,
with his inspiration I anticipated my ears he’d anoint. 
Though his abilities were considerable, down to earth
and humble was he, I found after hours in his presence
in fact he was a poet, like me.