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Calliope
I am but a poet not a scholar
but a writer creating my own
network of emotions balanced
over sudden mental break’s
absence of tolerance to be
quieted to be numb empty
eccentrically desired memoirs
that allow sullen matter with
the meetings of the minds
quoting my very existence
catered to the finite infamous
wisdom of my sheer beauty
bestowed hidden scrolls within
my grasp a goddess of art poetry
and song I am patient I am loud
only in my thoughts a muse
as I tremble like rumbling thunder
beneath the midst of Apollos
hear when I simple can’t find the
right words the gravity that forms
to actually place pen to paper
as I study the slow movement
the minute hand on vintage
brass clocks I master time
clinging to the chimes the springs
the nuts the bolts while the second
hand fascinates me counting ever
grain of sand within the hour glass
my figure outlined to make them
began again and again with my song
when there’s absolutely nothing
left I fear being lost without
rational thinking malice folds
beneath me like white linen
as I am aching pondering about
the essence of my own poetic
gesture that simply reads write
you beautiful exceptional creature
Copyright ©
Yolanda Nicholsen
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