POET

He started putting the messages down,
when he knew there was a pen in the hall.
He started speaking with his mouth closed,
When the ink started showing his mind.
The pressure of fear went off completely,
When he twisted long words with short ones.
He became happy when he knew something,
That he could face death with writing.
He is the only being in his family,
that writes and foundations are afraid.
He stays behind the window with music beside,
To stab the wicked and Pat the righteous.
I am happy when he holds the pen,
Because he will surely defend me with words.

POET

© Jahismine