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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.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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