Writing poems and songs of the heart we were confident that love would find a way but what place to accommodate? At which place would she stay?
So many words you can say but words are just words can you feed her stomach? as a poet you'd fill her soul but would you be a man to build a home? She said: talk is cheap, your wallet is airtime, so many words you speak, but can you put your money where your mouth is or are you weak?
We were poets, crafting words and building worlds however to the material world it was daydreaming We had no titles as lovers, neither bf's nor husband's we created a system of our own which to the world would be ridiculous a love note has a posting fee and sending is perilous We were poets with hat-tricks but scorned as bald men who bewitch.
So much innocence in the beginning and now the deafening chaos with happenings a poet may swallow his sorrow but can he eat his words? In a world where money is a god how soon before he bows... with no living you're at the bottom of the tower and conspiracies enlighten you with truths that are sour wrestled by frustration you'd wish you could teleport to super universes where being watched by satellites isn't the union's verse
But in the world, the coarse and bitter Earth how can a poet enliven his words? Perhaps preach to religion, anoint light sorcery, appoint fair government and breed an awake society.
Reincarnating to further conceal the truth being a front-runner of the age old galactic duels... tortured when in honesty you dwell try to be good and you will swell Wise and cautious they tell you to go to hell
We were poets, me, myself and I I I I the crew of I knows it all too well multiple selves telling stories from different times the self beyond and the corpse before before time was time and after time has ended the scribes golden will live on I was a poet and I was told I live a lie We were poets, and we were I.