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