"Poet Boy" I met this kid... that kept his writings hid. Since a small boy, he kept his artwork hid. No one ever knew all the writings he did. That night we met, That night I'll never forget. I was under the moonlight feeling sad... He must of sensed that I was feeling insanely mad. Him a kid; me an adult, Before I could question as to why a boy his age was out that late, without a word he raised his shirt revealing the artwork he always kept hid, His blue eyes matched mine tear after tear, He must of knew the secret I did bear, So without hesitation, I raised my sleeve's to reveal my scarred skin of poetry. I know this may sound strange but that night both of our live's suddenly began to change, We haven't crossed paths since, But we share something of a 6th sense, He's happy now and shares his artwork in museums of famous names, As for me, I'm old at the age of ninety-three and my poetry resides in books of famous names.