Am I, a poet?

Sometimes, at strange hours, I get this flash, of inspiration. From nowhere, it comes in fast lasting just a moment. Its almost, supernatural. Staring in the heart, taking over, the mind. Then moves into my hand, compelling it, to write. Am I a poet? Don’t think I am. Don't even know, what that means. A poet, use big words and clever repetition. Telling big stories, with grandeur. I only have a simple message. Child like, but clear. Am I a poet? Don’t think I am. Don't even know, what that means. Inspiration, is the ink, the body, just a pen. And the words? Have been in existence, long before, i wrote them. They are just, echoing, truths in rhyme, write by God's hand, throughout time.

Author's Note

Just a question.