The Poet and the Poem
Oh!
To be loved by the poem,
The stanzas by the universe
Every word a star,
Period a blue sphere and
Lapse of Eternity.
Deep eyes of Nova
Staring at a mere me
On a sphere of petty weigh
In the silence of chaotic plane
A stare and it all comes to pause
The works of world,
Sun let to dry and
Moon an ashen rock,
Waves of blue expanse, winds and light
All are at halt.
I in a millionth of a million of continuing cosmo, stand still
For am I even deserving of being the poet of a poem by the universe?
Of forsaking my name at the end with a tilde?
This tranquility of a stare!
Why does it ache?
Yet so in order
In peace
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