As I write, the pen trembles,
Mumbles my mind's verdicts.
Upon my thoughts, it stumbles,
Claims my Ideas are convicts.
As I imagine, my soul I bribe,
And hire it to channel my visions
with ease.
By tides, I'm swayed, away from my
tribe,
While the pen keeps teasing, the
scribe's calm seas.
Extinct notions, the imagination
weaves,
To drape a cloak o'er pessimist...
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