Poets are people who are good:
No matter the thoughts their verses may bring;
To some it's the feeling and lofty pleasure
That make them wiser from the words they sing. Poets wonder what mystery clouds the universe;
What words of truth might breach the veil;
Which God's prophets have hidden in symbols,
That no intellect or mystic can tell. Poets question the sense of many dogma's;
Although immortality may pierce his mind,
Illusions of the fickle impressions
Are fancy delusions he leaves behind. Poets suffer and strive for things unknown,
Every word in verse is a word that cries:
Bringing a curious awe to the imagination,
If the soul of man ever lives or dies. Poets feed on the creation of beauty,
Steering his course through the vale of tears;
Dancing to the music of his journey
With melodies that sparkle amidst the years.