When poets bleed they fill their quills
And write their words in red
The letters scream each time they're made
In the hope of being read

The page becomes a sounding board
A mirror to the soul
A reflection meant to bring them peace
To comfort or console

They choose their words so carefully
Not wasting a drop of blood
Writing words that lift them up
As tears begin to flood

They'll write with true conviction
Each time they start to weep
They write sometimes to clear their minds
Before they get to sleep

When poets bleed a word is born
Trying to appease their need
Shining a light to the whole wide world
And all who want to read