A poem is a song that our souls need to sing
Written to the music our emotions bring
The melancholy tune that our spirit dreads
Cause the words to sing that's inside our heads

Through the poet's quill a poem finds its voice
His paper made a stage for it doesn't have a choice
The poet, just an instrument for the songs to play
His muse writes the words, telling the poet what to say

The poet finds the rhythm through the beat of his heart
While doing his best to perfect his art
The letters all audition while the music is made
Praying to be the star when the song is played

As the melancholy tune starts to slowly die
The poet knows the ending is now drawing nigh
He lays down his quill that he's held so long
The poet's finally finished with his poet's song