Art Of Poetry
We number each syllable --
Forming, encasing the painting
Words; limited by our boarders
Now, framed for posting, the
Recital~ hung in the air --
Though freedom our purpose
Thus essence, every poem thought
Completed a testament of failure --
Great poetry, as all fond creations
Of deity we so admire, with feeble
Attempt wholeheartedly seek to grasp
And aspire --
Are ongoing stories…gone with the
Reaching….
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