fuckin' poets....stupid bastages....think they're so.....so.....so.....ah fuck it, who cares...

um.....this poem sucks man.....what a waste of one minute and fourteen seconds of my time......you owe me big Fucky.....i want oral....NOW!

but seriously.....i'm not a fan of....happy poetry, i guess.....i mean....it's not like a "YAY! BIRDS SING PRETTY!" type of poem....but it's just....i dunno......there's nothing workin' for me with this one.....there's no interesting connotation or phrasing really.....it's like an idolizing poem and that's all.....i mean.....when i think of a "POET" i don't think about some great mystic wonder that records life with words of grandeur....to me, a poet is pained...they don't see the world, but instead write one, creating it through their own eyes, expressing it through imagery.....they're liars....decievers.....people lost in their imaginations....

i guess all i'm sayin' is that anyone can be a poet.....some can even be great.....but the truest poet of all is the poet of pain......the poet who is lost within himself..........and yeah, so this Gibran dude is tryin' to express a sense of gratitude with his poem....but where's the pain man? speakin' in terms of connotation, it isn't there...

i think he had a good idea, but failed in his delivery.....he did a grave injustice to exactly who and what a poet really is....