The Art of Poetry
There is a time
When your tongue cant talk
When all that you do,
Is watched like a hawk
This is when ink runs black
When paper meets steel
When your mind is on track
Like music, words are formed
Tunnel-vision
Ideas are born
Paper gets crinkled and paper gets torn
But you know in your heart
That poetry is the most ancient of arts
Copyright © Brian Merrick | Year Posted 2005
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