A Poet's Tale

I neither was a poet,
Nor a writer did I know,

No love for poems did I show.

No inner fantasies, no depth to sow.

In childhood times,

Emulating my elder brother's rhymes,

His favorite songs and poems, I'd chime.

His singing and reciting, my mime.

Children often copy their father,

Yet, I mimicked my brother.

At three or four, he left my mother,

No problem it seemed, an introvert undercover.

Idolizing my brother, happily introverted,

Time flowed, and change I asserted.

Not a machine, artificial or cold,

But from my brother, a poem's tale I was told.

"The Letter from Paris," a melody,

Where Stevenson's verses set me free.

"Under the Wide and Starry Sky" they sing,

With a will, my heart takes wing.

Since that day, a will embraced,

To become extrovert, inspired, not misplaced.

Even when struggles sought to bind,

I'd say, "Gladly lived, gladly died," in my mind.

At eighteen, a song touched my core,

"7 Years Old" by Lukas Graham, explore.

Lyrics echoing life's connection,

With a will, embracing introspection.

Now a writer, with a pen that weaves,

Poetry and feelings, my heart conceives.

Theoretical musings and equations intertwine,

Motivation flows, a purpose defined.

To inspire everyone, a newfound will,

Changing myself, a continuous skill.

Writing, singing, composing my art,

A biography shaped, a poetic heart.