The Draft
The draft blows onto his page
A poet in his early stage
He burns with sage
It's so new age
But he'll try anything
These games of words
This spell of spelling
Anything.
To stop his mind yelling
Thoughts lack their form
Prison sentences caged
Punishment
They won't conform
Mind races
He must use what he has
Was this good enough he wonders
Was this good enough to count?
He is stuck in a soup of poems
And may never get out.
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