Poetry release my soul
This soul of mine is tied up
Writing poetry wakes it up
As my soul wakes, it is slowly released
Water of my cup of poetry has never decreased
It quenches the thirst of a will that was deceased
I see myself writing poems with ink and a feather
A trace of ancient ambience like the weather
Up in a room that is candlelit
I got my poetry kit.
Just the night and I alone
Without the distraction of a phone.
Sweet cup of poetry fill my soul,
Warm me up like heated coal.
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