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there are those…

… i suppose
who think nothing of a rose

they do not wonder
looking under
to find grass between their toes

to such as these
the spreading trees
are whispering in vain

they regard the sprinkling rain
with nothing but posterior pain

the sparkling skies
lift not such eyes
the daily sunrise lacks surprise!

i suspect
with regret
that most all the folks i’ve met

have already died
inside
but from mortal planes were never sent

to whom the world is still cement
and unresponsive stone

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Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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