The poet's plight

Forever thinking 

Always reading

Continuously having a thought

A poet's brain can bring science to nought

Their blood pumps out verses 

And in anger can produce rhyming curses

Masters of words and tense 

They skillfully create suspense 

In their own world, they choose to be

And believes in what one cannot see

They are the creators of emotion 

And can spur things in motion 

Their thoughts are worlds

Waiting to be discovered 

Their words are seeds

Waiting to be planted 

Strange and peculiar to many

Misunderstood by so many more 

Their mastery to you may be a bore

But poets remain the balm to every sore

By Eden Van der Nest