The Poet has been reborn,
In his heart there’s still a thorn,
But through poetry soon the thorn will be gone!
The poetic words they have returned,
Into this soul that has been badly burned,
Burned by the lust for a loose lady!
Lust, or maybe love?
It made the Poet question higher above,
Higher than his broad mind had ever imagined!
His thoughts took him way above any God,
Where’s this God the silly sod?
God’s too busy giving men reasons to fight!
The Poet had been to the bottom of the pit,
Just like Hell it was total shit!
But not even Hell could hold the Poet’s words down!
His words slowly lifted him up,
He rose way above his Princess Buttercup,
The Poet learned not to believe in things that weren’t real!
For too long he’d blamed himself,
He’d packed himself up on the shelf,
The shelf of damaged goods and lost emotions!
All the things in which he’d once believed,
One by one they’d all deceived,
And all that remained of the Poet was a big empty page!
He cried out to many people for help,
But most people only listen to themselves,
And the Poet he was no exception!
When he dwelled at the bottom of his pit,
About other people he didn’t really give a shit!
He was too busy trying to claw his way out!
Desperation eventually got him out,
But his beautiful mind was now a mass desert of doubt!
Doubt in all the things he carried as he sank to the bottom!
But the Poet is now back up on top,
He accepts the thinking will never stop,
But the thoughts will be quickly put down on paper!
The Poet once tried to hold all his thoughts in,
When his Life seemed so full of misery and sin,
Sins he’d done, and sins that had been done on him!
But the Poet he does now write,
As his mind runs wild tonight!
Maybe tomorrow he’ll be inspired to write about Love!