They often judge the poet
On the words that he thread
Some readers formed his silhouette
In each poetry that they've read

Judge him not at one piece, else you'll be upset
Because his pen can laughed then can bled
In every second his mind will reset
Truly, you'll never know what's inside his head

In the universe of paper and quill
He can create truth within lies
He can put soul to nonliving
Some of his creations will never die

Every poesy made was alive
Talked of its own tongue
It will definitely survive
Even the poet was long gone



9/23/2015

Mysterious Aries