The Poet Himself

As the, Thee Poet himself
writes away this next poem
he sits looking down at this page
wondering what to write

as thes thoughs wonder
across the page
old memorys are remembered
none good, nor bad
just the memorys of this head

seeing these angels
sore high above
as this fallen walks the lonely surface
he can not fly
therefore call me second to last

will this angel of beauty
grant thy wings
to sore with the Calm
and the Peaceful Night

i look down back at this page
seeing nothing infront of me
and nothing behind me
as im sitting here clueless
to this world

as my friends rome
i see myself sitting her
thinking that im not first
but second to last

then you pop into my head
my Angel Eye's and the crew of friends
then i Realize
i'm first to them
cause i got you guys
as my friends

as this paper fills
my head clears
i notice this poem
about me and all of you

one will teach me to fly
the other will encourage me
the last will give me that push
so that i may sore with you's

as were soring up above
tears of joy run down this face
as i remeber that the fallen
can always rise again

i am the poet
i am the fallen
i am once again risin
but to you's i am your Friend
and my wings fly for all of us

[special thanks to the people that are around me, i read these
poems and ideas burst, so i thank all my friends cause you are my
insperation]

Written By the poet himself...Thee Written Poet