Poetry, poetry that's all to be said of me.
When I die no one will remember me. All they'll see are my words on a sheet of blank paper.

"What a crazy little lady she must've been." They'll say.

"Just like all poets messed up in the head, poor little girl just could never escape."

When they hear my name, they'll say "who, oh you know the girl who wrote the poem!" they'll laugh.

"Lost child!"
The silly things they'll say.

"All the girl could do is write on paper!"

But do they see the blood, that drips red from the paper?
The words that tore her apart?
Day by day she was wasting away.
But all they could say, was that she was a silly little girl.
When really she held the worlds pearl.
They don't see the poor man who reads her words, and cries.
Because he understands her pain.
His tears wet the paper, and he quickly wipes them away.
Nothing can ruin this poem!
He needs these words to know he's not alone.
But, all they could say she was nothing, but a nut case.
They never see how those words saved a friend from his darkened den.
Nor did they care too.
They laugh and go on their way.
While the man holds the poem close to his heart.
No longer is he alone, because he's got his poem.
One day, they'll see how these little things changed the world.

Dedication to krazydiamond, because she made that beautiful banner up there!