She flies like a bird
In the midst of her writings
Yet she\'s not a prophet
She just calls herself one
Just to feel important in this world;
For I am not a prophet
I am a star that shines
Upon a piece of a broken rag doll
Throw me around
And you shall see
That I am weightless like the others;
For we are poets
And we are not prophets
Behold the pages of unborn thoughts,
Are poets prophets?
Who knows the spectrum?
It is interesting to know the exact;
Rag doll come upon me please!
And break the prophet\'s spell
For we are poets from a different spectrum
Are we prophets? I don\'t know!
For the love that we have is sacred
Behold the ringing of the bell;
Alas! Alas!
Such pretty thoughts can break our demise
For my rag doll is in love with me
And she loves my poetry
For the broken pieces of her existence
Are the very part of me;
Who on this earth shall be my destiny?