They Have Killed The Poet Poem by Saint Cynosure

They wade in tears that flood the streets,
they cry in their own hands.
Cause its to late to bring him back,
and this they understand.
Never will the children dream,
not another song will play.
They shall not sleep at night by screams,
they want to run away.
For they have done an evil thing,
its punishment for self.
They have killed the poet,
now they feel all by themselves.
No more joy on any face,
no more happy smiles.
How could they let it be this way,
they wonder all the while.
Do they not know they need the man,
whom letters for were born.
Why did not one say to them stop,
why were they not for warned.
Now the world will live in dark,
such a horrid place.
They have killed the poet,
and on themselves they've brought disgrace.