A poet's words are a product of a packed up heart,
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Eyes that have judged for so long,
A mind to decode beauty into words,
Telling people what's right and what's wrong.
But people, too lazy to make use of the pen,
Don't read between the lines,
People too busy to learn the art
Will never come to value the signs.
A poet's broken heart will leak and drip
Till death puts his mind to rest,
A poet's eyes will bleed and analyze
What his hands will later manifest