Forgotten

I've read the sophic words inscribed with pens
That wistful poets paint with latent eyes.
Their pains, abandoned dreams, and faithless friends
Are voiced in lines of verse that some despise.
They drown in sorrow dancing in their minds,
For they can see the tears within their words.
They sing exquisite lines of varied kinds,
Much like the songs of captured mourning birds.
Oh, pleasant are their words when I despair,
When soothing solace draws away from me.
Their tears are like a balm applied with care,
Which soothes a captive heart and sets it free.
 Their choral words may see a thousand years,
 Forgotten then will be the poet's tears.