He is a man always left on his solitude
with his might set, like a sharp sword.
His hands always exhausting pens,
with papers filled to the brim.

His heart gush and groan wide
with his head affirming, from side to side.
His words forces of wide thought
scheming words of all sought.

His dreams scanned in booklet,
this man rain all in droplet.
He exposes the secret of nature
and give details of all creature.

He mimics the ways of the philosophers
but not of vivid terms, it differs.
He write of many immortal shadow
setting transparency of emmence sorrow.

His mind fight with his desire,
his heart embellishing what he has acquire.
When he turned activist of the state
his works even the little hate.

His words read the heart of many
causing his plight to be plenty.
He was killed because of his poem.
He is a poet who died by his poem.

One Response to “A POET WHO DIED BY HIS POEM”

1. greatpoet Says:
   July 11th, 2009 at 5:27 am

   personal, i love this poem.

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