Poetry

The men's inner fabric The poet deconstruct and sew Diving in an ocean, waves are eccentric The hungry and ferocious species are ready to chew The poet construct a ship to the public The angry fellows are very few The men's survival is centric This view a painter cannot drew A poet's colorful threads and a fabric Torn pieces would sew A mansion with a magnificiant attic Can be built from wood a men would hew I know that sounds fantastic poetry is an art where colors of hope to strew on the dead ocean,that's all static alive it'd be, as the wonderland view the royal throne ,with the same magic a poet can describe a destroyed old pew