Voice Poem by Lord Jet

The lonely rhapsodist
unable to articulate himself, muttering in a corner, petrified of the world around him
he finds comfort amalgamating pen and paper
transmuting paper to his voice
although his voice is silent, it is omnipotent
adamant about his feelings, and a sanguine disposition in his work
always writing, he is steadfast in intimate concentration
although his mind is ran by the kakistocracy of his heart
he can still acquire the compass to locate his happiness in the maze of negative emotions
his compositions are foudroyant in nature
captivating to his audience and ones who can see past the emotionless husk of his blank verses
our rhapsodist is complacent, proud of the voice he created for himself
and in that he has found his personal safe haven