I think that as poets we see the world differently than everyone else
We see broken concrete and wonder what secrets it can tell
And every tick of the clock tells a story if you care enough to listen
And nights spent asleep are because inspiration is missing
Old paper makes you wonder if you could have loved a person who held it before
And broken hearts make you write with the ink being tears on the floor
The sky is a masterpiece and we must all be stars
Because nothing else could even come close to what poets are
So when the stars explode and hearts begin to break
It's a beautiful thing and will be written about for days