Seek not O worldly gaze inside a poets Heart

There are no more treasures to be found

No more profound wisdom and maxims

No words to shed on what life is or what it should be?

The heart of a poet is a loneliest planet lifeless

The heart of a poet is a beastly cycle merciless

I’m but a poet after all and my heart is being lured into words

My music are my rhythms of every poem ever been written

Dante’s Inferno is my heart

Look not O eyes into my being alone

Look what is prophesied in these words

Poets are condemned to misery and despair

Who became a a poet by choice? No one

Ask any living poet? Resurrect Shakespeare if you can o poor soul

Question and inquire no one is a poet by choice

Troubles of life makes one a poet therefore a poet is a condemned man

A poet has to live he has more to suffer therefore he writes

Henceforth I’m a poet and there is nothing in my heart

I am therefore of no use to the world or to anyone

O world condemned this poet to death

This poet has only emptiness in his heart

A poets heart ask no O life what is in my heart?

Nothing and nothingness took charge of me