It is truly sad to say,
that a poet’s beautiful heart
is always in utter pain,
as he masters his divine art
until the end of his days.
As he passionately bleeds
word after precious word,
and gracefully sings
like a delicate songbird.
His pain still grows
with each waking day,
and every dreadful night
with dwindling hope
that the pain will fade away.
But it is not the poet’s choice
as he takes on this risky endeavor,
creating such beauty,
pure elegance,
sealing his undying heart away,
in the midst of forever.
A poet’s heart,
that is what I have,
as I turn my sorrows into art
Inventing beautiful memories—
echoes that will forever last,
for all the world to see.
