Sonnet III "Poetry"

Poetry comes from the heart
For this organ is apart.
In this day it seems to cope
With emotion like love, hate, and hope.
Poetry flows through the veins
For you to shape all your pains.
Up it goes to the head
To be morphed and to be read.
Then out in the form of ink
Where another decides its stink.
Many think it is easy to throw it,
But not everyone can be a poet.