A Poet uses words as weapons,
Using only his ink and pen,
Stories that’ll last for eons,
Are merely waiting to happen.

For a Poet never uses a sword,
Containing a will that will never yield,
Cause not even a fortress or a shield,
Could block the power of his word.

A Poet never practiced the bow,
Yet his lines hit you like an arrow.
A Poet never did ****** a spear,
Yet the force of words could let out a tear.

For a Poet never uses war-like things,
For the pain that his word brings,
No matter where you go or hide,
It always hits you on the inside.