A poets heart,
Is a very deep well
It holds many secrets,
Some we never tell
We speak in rhymes,
Or metaphors
We write of hope for the future,
Or sadness gone before
We are guilty,
Of feeling things too deep
And pondering secrets,
Life its self has to keep
Poets see things clearly,
That others cannot
We wonder about questions,
Which time, has forgot
A poets heart,
Beats at a different pace
A poets pen,
Defies time and space
We poets,
Create our own written place
We poets,
Are together, our own race
As poets,
We stand apart
And live in the deep well,
Of our poetic hearts