Birth of a Poet(edit) no new title yet

[TranquillityBase]

What it is to be
born with the sun
under a rose-dusted sky

caught within a waking
dream.  A mind, opened,
by that cutting light,   

mysterious; glimpsing
the shadowed edges
of what exists at the seams
of the world.

Left standing alone
before the mirror,
windows unshaded

from whittling eyes that cut
to the heartwood,
penknives too sharp.       so sharp?  too sharp implies a relectance to cut that doesn't seem to be in the character of this poet

Trimmed, shaped, made 
beautiful? Bleeding

self in that birthing.
The page red with it;
the gore of darlings
slickening the floor.           my favorite lines

What mercy to drown
letting it fill the lungs,                 
reclaiming it as your own.

To live in that hunger
for your own blood.

A couple of minor suggestions.  A really excellent edit and a memorable poem.  I still think Blood of a Poet would make a good title, even though it's been used before (by Cocteau, not Lorca).