A string of words that flow like the rivers,
Showing enough thought to provide the shivers.
Reflections of the poet within,
The type thrown out in the garbage bin
Or the type framed and hung on the wall.
There's a poet within us all.

Not all are eager to show their inner poet,
But would rather let it set sail
As rivers stream from their eyes
Due to the symbolic lie
They believe, making them pale
As, with their sorrow, they wallow it.

Patronizing executives and farmers
Believe their exterior would be shattered
If their inner poet let slip.
Once somebody gives them lip,
They harden as if it mattered
And equip their shields and armors.

The Spartan with the inner-Athenian
Would be killed by his friends
If they knew who he was on the inside.
This fills him with fear.
He keeps his ears open to hear
If anyone is coming as he hides
So his poetry will have its end
Before this war with the Peloponnesians.

Such beauty gone to waste
All because this facade of masculinity
Everyone puts on to protect themselves
From the beasts in this society
That would love to shatter those dreams.
Artists should gather in teams,
Ready to fight this anarchy
That would place our poetry on the shelves,
Collecting dust with haste.
*Collecting dust with haste.