The poet’s mind is closed the door is locked
A metaphor is nothing but a lie
All poetry that’s written should be mocked
Let’s celebrate when all the poets die
Do you remember how it feels to be
Or not to be a poem in a play
The world inside the mind you’ll never see
I wish the world outside would go away
Yes I’m a poet and my mind is shut
It makes it easy to reject your words
In poetry the cadences are cut
In smelly chunks of similaic turds
So crumble this one up and wipe your ass
If poetry attacks you, it will pass.
This entry was posted on Saturday, July 15th, 2023 at 12:23 pm and is filed under Sonnets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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