The preacher preaches,
his word love teaches.
The holy men tries to save souls,
defeat the devils ghouls.
Preachers work for God,
try to help save human heart.

The poet flies words,
either hate or love birds.
Poets hold no alligance,
their birds fly freelance.
What good is a poet,
who does not love flow it?

I can't be a poet of hate,
if poetry is to be my fate.
These poems certainly do squeeze,
scream love please.
If I can't help my fellow man,
then freeze my poetic plan.

I'm no preacher,
or poetic teacher.
I'm just another man,
fate has dealt it's hand.
Seems like these words,
want to fly love birds.

Sobeit!

G