Some dance to music
of which the poets speak
While others write lymerics
upon the walls and streets
Then there are those
with ears closed tight
For they only want their thoughts
running with them at night.
But,...thee is the poet
whose words speak to all
That flower within the mind of Man
and lives in Eternity's halls
They travel well though little read
for danger is in sight
If you read their words of thought
You'll have to think out right.
Then they will see the beauty
and all the misery as well
They'll travel through the doors of Heaven
and reside in the pits of Hell
For poetry explores everywhere
and seeks out every crack
For poetry is a living thing
it spring from experiences back
Measure the price of civilization
seeking the payments it has asked.