Years of poetry

I woke up a poet
Most days in those years
In the beginning I was a painter
But my colors always ran
When the sun shone I was an athlete
Near water I was a fish
I wanted nothing more
Than to become the air, or the sea
Some days we philosophized
Touching a metaphysical reality
As we imbibed all of our indulgences
But most days, I woke up a poet
Those years were riddled with questions
That came about as I wandered
Down dusty paths
And forgotten alleyways
Questions that played out in my mind
In verse and in rhyme

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