Letter to a Poet

Dear Poet,

Your beard is aged and wise.
What truths did you discover fifty years before,
that I am only now leaving behind?
And when you wrote, was it in ink or pencil or blood?
Is it true that one must go in?  Or out? Or what?
And what of love?
What did you learn in all your years?
Does it come only once?
(a one-to-one special fit?)
Or is it ample, for the taking?
Should I pine?  Should I cry out?
And what meaning is there left to find?
Have you seen the world today?!
And what next would you suggest?
And after that...?
Oh Poet!  With your words,
share with me what you are supposed to know.
Guide me with your heightened emotions.
Some of us have none.

 Sincerity.