Poetry is life and life is art,
Creating a new piece conceives a new life's start.
Poetry saved my brother, yes it's true.
Even though he messed up, poetry pulled him through.
The art of poetry is so divine and magnificent,
Words like mountains grounded firm such omnipotence.  
The passion is in the emotions the poet sets in words,
Every synthesis of symphony, the similes, metaphors tingle every nerve.
Categorizing vocabulary, an encyclopedia your brain should be,
Hitting the bull, yes that sweet spot definitely.
Like a tree your poetry must grow so tall, so strong, so big,
The simplest of words can make your poems more than you think.
Poetry saved my brother from the hands of the stern court of disclosure,
Though he was wrong, he held his composure.
His heart was made pure and sincere through faith earnestly to God he held on to.
Tempted in the garden, yet poetry saw him through.
Some of his brothers disowned him and remembered him no more,
Thou shall not get caught, he failed to observe the 11th law.
Some who called him friend and partaker in the crime,
Like Judas they threw him to the crucifixion line.
Whispers of him going astray and gossips, that he was selfish they assured themselves that he was wrong,
The proud man stood leaving their heads bowed to the ground.
Poetry saved my brother, and on forward his head held high,
A man who can acknowledge his deeds, the most respect never past him by.