You can be destitute, dressed in rags
But you're a tycoon with pencil and pad
Your office a park bench under the sun
Your income the poem or song yet unsung
Your boardroom the corner of some shopping mall
Where multitudes gather
When you, the writer calls
No microphones needed
Nor fancy backdrops
The words of poetry ring forth
Crowds now do stop
Amazed that a man
Unkempt, dressed in rags
Can bring peace to the masses
And new heart to the sad
All this with no money, just pencil and pad
This poetic  tycoon
Shone in a world so sombre and sad

Forgiveness
is for the soul
releasing the evil
that's taken a hold
bitterness, anger and hate
the spirit killers
that can seal your fate
tearing you down and leaving a life
of misery that's filled
with a great strife

Forgiveness
it's for your own heart
protecting your spirit
doing its part
righting your path
to one where joy can be found
giving away all that evil
to which you've been bound

Forgiveness
it's really for you
you're not saying it's fine
it's just what you must do
for with it comes freedom
for your spirit and heart
giving them life once again
giving you a new start