Misaligned Ratios of Chance
I believe I can visualize a bird and a tree.
This is something I could describe as poetry.
As yet, allow your inner poem to flow freely.
It offers a firm base on which to uplift deeply.
The beauty of "Conceivable" is in its nothingness.
Tidied with the expectation of becoming a star
Scars form on the hands as this occurs in pettiness.
Of the individuals who opt to assess the bizarre.
Therefore, let us plunge swiftly from the heart.
Also, praise your commitment part.
Imagine the happiness that would bring.
Without giving away the game secret string.
The evidence is right here on my fingers.
Your flesh was preserved solely by luck.
Closeness was once divvied; it now lingers.
Your phantom appeared and equally struck.
You must ingest an extensive round of inquiry.
They lurk behind my teeth, where nothing is tidy.
Almost every day, I start trying to light my lips.
Reverberated by the faint voices of my scripts.
I must tell myself to harbor my mouth abhorrent.
This bogus love is a fragmented, twisted torrent.
My pen, for some reason, keeps its artwork.
I opine that's vulgar after so much time at work.
I can barely elude the lump in my throat.
Either that or butterflies in my chest buzz smote.
Each time I mind you, I saw the tweaks to your face.
Thus, anchoring ideas into bits of my heart's grace.
There is no need to drain your inherence.
Or implement the desired appearance.
Strive not to stop till words failed to emerge.
In fact, you may gain peace in your inner urge.
Written: August 29, 2022
I write because Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
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