Stranja Depoet Poet I do not know?

I Stole From Poetry Some Words

Soaring high in the breeze of the darken sky
On wings of passion with strain
The wind my anchor, and  on its bed I lie
I have in my hand a pen and I see papers lying plain
Mr. Poetry, you are the next victim to cry
But if I cause your heart massive pain,
Arrest and tear my words apart
Take me to the prisons afar
Torture and leave on my skin a scar
For I stole From you words which are;
                    Purely
                    Of
                    Everything
                    Tranquil
                    Rightly
                    Yours

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