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ado the realms that I have plunged with phrase
they have no shape - no bound'ries or expanse
some wend in heaven's dreams or hell's malaise
thoughts sown a demon's kiss or angel's dance ...
such myst'ries there are born from matter, gray
those maelstroms wend the mind's complexities
what seems dark and chaotic through its sway
works fierce to find the beauty each eye sees ...
while wordsmiths tend to stretch upon the rack
of flow'ry phrase, for sake of bloom and breaths
there's far more dire concern with candor's lack
than all the horror wrought ten thousand deaths ...
please don't misunderstand these words of mine
true eloquence is birthed through grain OR chaff
with thoughts that bare the soul in grand design
and swell dear hearts that break on their behalf ...
pray, deign to think me common, though I was
dear love's sweet fool, a million times too much
and though I'd trade my loves for verse's cause
the dearest poem can't trump ... a woman's touch.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2021
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