A surgeon
A surgeon
A poet doesn’t just describe, he opens up the world,
He brings his thoughts and shadows out on white pulp.
And when someone or anybody reads his word,
These “gifts” get in under a reader’s sculp.
He’s like a surgeon with a scalpel – slits the “tins”,
Who squeezes through the mass which's mixed up.
Inside of this there are both purity and deadly sins.
And then, in his treatise, he thinks who’s really screwed up.
A poet doesn’t just describe, he opens up the world,
He brings his thoughts and shadows out on white pulp.
And when someone or anybody reads his word,
These “gifts” get in under a reader’s sculp.
He’s like a surgeon with a scalpel – slits the “tins”,
Who squeezes through the mass which's mixed up.
Inside of this there are both purity and deadly sins.
And then, in his treatise, he thinks who’s really screwed up.
