The science of a poets mind
Sometimes it is not pure divine
For it can be a real curse
With a mind that’s always
Filled with verse

You can write it all inside your head
Without it ever being said
You can write it while you stand in line
With the rhythm of the perfect time

Your soul it just won’t miss a beat
When the rhythm makes move your feet
For it will represent defeat
To that rhythm that is strangely neat

A poet will take pure emotion
And convert it to a form or notion
By taking something felt not heard
And converting it to simple word

You can let it take your mind instead
On a trip from what the words had said
To a feeling felt within the soul
From the trip of what the story told

The science of a poets mind
Sometimes it is not pure divine
For it can be a real curse
With a mind that’s always
Filled with verse