They'Re Poets
Poetry weave their feelings
Poorly garbed wo(men) huddled low against the fangs of words
Little nights - they never sleep
Rambling for lines in pages as they claim
They're poets
Confused - wander every valley of books
They scribble what they don't know - & do not hear
They're poets
Despite the intent & sorrow they're not aware
Before passion they bow
They're poets
They're lost lovers
They're poor
They're rich
They're demons
They're Demi gods
They're warriors
They're prisoners
They're strangers
They're death
They're life
They're oppressors
They're happiness
They're lively / suddenly strange
But they're loved just when they're dead
Paciolo Pen Saint
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