Poets are something else
They stand apart,in a world torn apart
They see beauty in ashes
Who does that?
They understand the grasses
They see nature in magical glasses
That's what their mind are made of
So they see beauty in ugly stuff
No one understands pain more
No one understands love more
Their honesty is incomparable
They are simply God's miracle
Their imaginations are vast
Larger than the very universe put togther
They are never stingy
For they share their soul
They are messengers of hope
They should be enshrined as gods
Yet no true poet wants that
They simply want to share
Not for glory or immortalization
Yet they are born immortals
Whose words alter the course of time
They bring healing to a sick world
Relief to a pained world
They're God's treasured ones
If you doubt me,
Read the psalms of david
And the proverbs of Solomon
Read the Ecclesiastes
And see how God carefully planned them
Treasures them, and nature's them
This fills the devil with envy
And he sends trials their way
They're often torn, rejected, dejected
Beaten time and after
Yet they bring beauty to sufferings
And touch the core of your very soul
Poets are really something else
That's why they're often misunderstood
Once, I wasn't much of a poet
So it was hard to see,
How a fellow man makes suffering desirable
But since I began the journey,
I now understand why poets are something else, different from the rest of the world
RESPECT  to every poet out there,RESPECT.