THE POET CRY

I stole their time with my words
Hoping that they'll change our worlds
I engaged them with my piece
Thinking they'll give us true justice
I coaxed their hearts on my paper
That they might hear and answer our prayer
I pierced their soul with my pen
Now it's bled lives beneath their den

May the lord of verses
Chastise their bruises
May the father of inspiration
Repay their exploration
And may the God of poetry
Reward their inventory