There is danger in being a poet, a razor tongue draws blood without pain
Long hours of brain\'s sweat falls into an empty pocket with no visible gain
Word toys of women and boys outgrown when he becomes a man
Expected to hold emotional breath till death or as long as he can
Critic\'s guns intent to maim all take aim on the heart of a naked name
Metaphors of speech the deaf you can\'t teach rolling their eyes in blame
Vulture birds they pick at private words vomiting bones and gristle that stick
They ride a storm over form, rhyme and time, doctors looking for the sick