Flawed Poet's

In a world of verse, where poets dwell, Two beings emerge, distinct and tell, One wields a pen, with grace and art, While the other, in shadows, falls apart. A good poet crafts such words divine, Their verses dance, enchant, entwine, Their flaw, perhaps, a touch too rare, For ego hides, a whisper's snare. But alas, the bad poet stands near, Their verses clatter, lack all clear, Their ego swells, a bloated feast, Ignoring truth, the soul's release. The good poet weaves tales with their heart, Through humble ink, they form their art, Their flaw, perhaps, a hint of pride, Yet wisdom guides, they set aside. The bad poet, blinded by their claim, Taints words with ego, birthed in vain, Their flaw unchecked, the mind takes flight, Leaving sincerity out of sight. So seek the good, with ink so pure, Their flaw acknowledged, yet they endure, While bad poets falter, lost in pride, True artistry shines, with grace beside.