Poets will try to hide their pain
Where tears will go unseen
They'll hide the countless demons slain
With words they find serene

Emotion will always find their sleeves
It's part of who they are
A special way the poet grieves
To mend that hidden scar

A poet is lost until they're found
They just can't find their way
A silent scream without a sound
Will chase their pain away

A poet is made of different stuff
They're not like all the rest
Peace, they never seem to have enough
Until their sin's confessed

They're haunted by their need to write
Their ink made to console
For most are prisoners to the night
And they're born with a paper soul