Poets cry out that we're not always sad,
We're not always sad,
We're not always sad,
Then turn back to writing about the tragedy of the sky and the sea.
My dear poets,
I'm sorry these nights are long,
and you still taste that bitter taste in your mouth,

in your lungs,

in your soul.

You didn't start the fire that was set in your home
and left ash in your mind.
There is no emergency line or clean up crew who can dig out the damage,
because if they did that,
they would dig you out too.
My dear poets,
You are not always sad.
Write freely, because poetry is the only way to ease your mind.

You are not sad,

you are working on yourself.

You are not sad,

you are cleaning up the mess they left behind,

You are not sad,

you didn't deserve that.