We are the poets,
A mass army
Of tortured souls
Writing about our suffering
In hope to gain
peace of mind
When in actuality
The world is our torturer
And we are nothing but the victims
Writing of our experiences,
Putting words together,
Perfectly,
Into a mass
Of meaningless lines
To entertain
The ones who cause
Us to pick up the pen
What is a poet
Without a broken mind
And a damaged heart
Well, nothing but
A horrible writer
attempting to
Rhyme verses
And put together stanzas
In hope to get the
View from the world
A true poet
Is not sane
They have no belief
"Sanity" exists
They are outcasts,
Not normal
to the eyes
Of the world
But a person
More beautiful
on the inside
than a poet,
Does not exist
Poets have been
Driven past
Their breaking point
Pushed until
The damage done
Was far beyond repair
We are the poets
A mass army
Of tortured souls
Fighting a war
Of cruelty
enflicted by
The human heart
Hoping our words
Can bring peace
To the people
Who can't find peace
Within their selves