Versifier Prison

The carpenters hammer beats out a tune While the poet's heart is striped bare. For the entire world to fill and not care. They both build a stellar room A place to rest in the afternoon. The beauty of the room the poets prints The color of his thoughts require a sigh For he doesn't build for you and I. It is good of him to share and hence We only point to his difference. We criticize what we cannot see, If our thoughts do not align with his, We say he wasn't given the gift. Yet he doesn't write for you and me In that he has shaken both legs free.