The Poet

The poet wears his heart on his sleeve
while all the chambers leak
Sonnets, prose, and verses bleed
It ills the poet weak

The heart's a thumping rhythm drum
The beat composes time
But when the music tangles love
The heart calls on the mind

The mind in thought consoles the heart
The conscience heals the vein

But it hungers for the beating drum
To pump love to the brain

Dependent Mind, you need your Heart

Don't let them see you show it

Lock all the chambers to preserve

The secrets of the poet