ill Poet pt. 1

For I am a ill poet , the grave consumes , its never satisfied. My words spark no penance.
Scroll plagued with parables that plead . Bubonic tree of ignorance , she tightens the noose .
When poets dreamt of towers strong with testimony , may you never lose sight of the writings . 
I am an ill poet , by the bay I see the end . Undone , raw in the core , the devoured call for me join .
The day the poets stand . I'll write till the ink fades , thy pin shall never perish .