We The Poets

Happiness is not for the poets
It lays like lead on our lives
Like stones in swimmers pockets
Like fish breathing dead water

Give us the sludge of society
That we may grow gardens
Sowing the seeds of sadness
Into a brilliant bloom

We are the poets unseen
Yet heard and hollered
A voice for the meek and mute
The endangered weavers of words

(c) Esteban Luis Soto

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