Poem # 9- A Poet's Note
I think as a lonely sky,
Hovering beyond the enormous Earth.
I feel as a misheard cry,
Overflowing in a non-existent barrel.
I sing as a car tire's screech,
Like a child wailing from drowning in a colossal sea.
I speak as a fork scratching a silver plate,
Followed by a bloodcurdling statement of hate.
I read as a lifeless flea— though with rhythm,
Having the ability to cease the wretched.
I write as a flowing, teal waterfall splashes the green waters,
Splashing and swashing until it fills up.
I interpret as my life's on the scorched line,
But without that accustomed hurry.
I write poems, and that's pretty evident;
It may sometimes be vaster than grief
But with all that established, I hope you all see—
These hidden notes that I consecutively bring.
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