The unfair poet

He had no pen to write his poem with
So he took one from the bookmakers
He had no paper to write his poem on
So he drew on a paper bag
He had no education to spell his words
So he filled it in with pictures
He had no concentration in his misery
So he lay down and stared up at the clouds
He had no eyes to see with
So he dreampt of the darkness
He had no heart to feel with
So his life force weakened
He had no love left in his palms
So he closed them to keep them warm
He knew no angel to call upon
So he waited only for death
He attracted no friend or king
Yet he was part
God