A poets pen is their weapon,
Their friend,
Their companion,
When in life they feel helpless,
Their thoughts accelerate their pen,
As they let the ink paint each page,
Their words are the reason they go on,
When hurt or broken,
When lonely or degraded,
Their pen smoothly brushes across the plain pages,
As they throw their heart out,
Things they can't say,
Things they feel,
All make sense,
As tears roll down their cheeks,
In death or pain,
Till the day they live,
Their words will keep up with them,
Giving them a ray of hope.