Writing about stars, moon, sun, planets, galaxies and how the universe works require knowledge—
Or mayber just facts about how they work—
Or how they enticingly glow in celestial sphere—
And not everyone can write about them.

Writing about the silly hot tears of a young broken girl—
As the hard rain pours, as the night goes deep—
As her lover got someone else—
And she was left betrayed—
Some inborn poetic poets could write more than this.

Writing about how a boy waited for the love of his life—
Until they grew apart—
Yet still ogling for each other's touch—
How they fought through great lengths
Just for their happy ending—
Someone who had been on their shoes can write a piece.

But writing about how the poet writes his favorite piece—
As he sat near his window—
As the winter pours its last snow—
As the soothing melody of a flute plays—
As the steam of his coffee is smelled in thin air—
As he tries to resist his tears—
While writing how he had been longing for years—
How he had been missing the missing piece of his life—
How he had been waiting for her—for almost every drop of the clock's foot—
How his heart's been ripped—
As he writes every bit of his favorite masterpiece—
With his purest, greatest, deepest, saddest soul—
In great tears and grief—
Shaking hands, swollen eyes and broken soul—no man can ever write this poet's favorite piece—
For he had never even expressed how much lost he was in his favorite masterpiece.

•||Poet's Favorite Piece||AerisScarlet|•