This would be the poem I could not write down

The tongues of people around me aflame with critique
About my own poetry, you know--

their gossip only fueling the fire of my own inspiration.

Then I say because I want to contrast the whole angel thing:

“But I know idle hands are the Devils.”

Then I said to myself,

Spoken poetry is the key that opens the cage to the enslaved,

Where then I muttered under my breath:

“I want to contrast angels—

Where Angels could not sing a sweeter melody than verse.”