Why Poetry
Oh what is that art read aloud?
From your world, beauty is art;
In your arms, fame sheds light,
Walking in all, narrowly, you spate; ah my fate,
In distress,writing is the right thing.
To show how endlessly you run in thy vain,
Bleeding all thoughts through the drop of ink;
A free man is imprisoned with you,
A blind or deaf, all dwell in your palace;
In you, love is blind, dearie!
Neutrally, others you embrace naturally,
When thirst, you quench; in English and or french,
The pinch at seize of words to make your touch soft,
Like hissing of the snake the brain finds peace,
Doing you is inspiring; a master piece.
Desires to make all touches leave a scar of evolution
Teen's age you surfaced with beauties along
To many you are red; for century, words have bled.
Oh poetry my beloved!
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