The men's inner fabric
The poet deconstruct and sew
Diving in an ocean, waves are eccentric
The hungry and ferocious species are ready to chew
The poet construct a ship to the public
The angry fellows are very few
The men's survival is centric
This view a painter cannot drew
A poet's colorful threads and a fabric
Torn pieces would sew
A mansion with a magnificiant attic
Can be built from wood a men would hew
I know that sounds fantastic
poetry is an art where colors of hope to strew
on the dead ocean,that's all static
alive it'd be, as the wonderland view
the royal throne ,with the same magic
a poet can describe a destroyed old pew
between the lines the unseen is cryptic
my words are hot, cold in view
I wish one day to lie on that majestic
pew, in my world I build,paint and sew