They often judge the poet

On the words that he thread

Some readers formed his silhouette

In each poetry that they've read

Judge him not at one piece, else you'll be upset

Because his pen can laugh then can bleed

In every second his mind will reset

Truly, you'll never know what's inside his head

In the universe of paper and quill

He can create truth within lies

He can put the soul to nonliving

Some of his creations will never die

Every poesy made was alive

Talked of its own tongue

They'll definitely survive

Even the poet was long gone

9/23/2015

Mysterious Aries