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We all look out at the austere scenic view Away into darkened silence to summon its approaching few Some may even insist on writing a haiku? Others ponder or relinquish to disagree; The poet writes to expose the lie, A light fabrication as the time passes by; Yet the poet can visibly see where others clearly can't... Out of darkened caverns with very trim decorum, Still the poet can see what no one else clearly can't... Has a very keen eye for detail where as others; Well, others clearly don't understand? As in the likes of a Pound, Ashbery & Whitman, There's clearly no need by which to pretend, In rich, texture tucked away; To dream the impossible dream or neglect to waste the day... The poet then looks arbitrary; The poet looks again at things with a deeper eye, An eye by which to sing as in a song; As a song that can ever be sung The poet then looks intently into the craft he wishes to support; In branded ivy twisted off the cork In desolation the thrust of shock In motives of anticipation when one thinks a lot In a promise that was made in the dark has come to its fullest of light; In anticipation to never give up on the fight As an eagle soar to domains out of natural sight The poet looks again intently by which to pretend With sullen wings in flight to forget the night Shades of grass within orchards grasp The poet still dreams of better days never getting lost in its purple type haze Shattered glass out on the parchment floor lest to find its decor Shelter lies dormant onto its beckoning call to live the dream To never look back at its proverbial plow The poet is me & the poet is you Blackened hearts in memory beneathe its borrowed pew In sunlight the divination again sets in; The promise of a better tomorrow or that in Summer to begin? The poet can dream at night in distant flight; To touch its empty swell between the lines A hand to hold with only one to bind. A heart to discern its peril intention, The poet will soon learn an ellaborate invention, Yet we all must siit back & wait in deep anticipation?
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