Poem : A Weather of Verse

Are poets weak words

Are poems marsh lands

Are verse withering weather

I know there is a tremor

I know there is a turbulence

I know there is a fragmentation

When I web my words into verse

When I will my wishes into words

When I pin my thoughts upon instincts

Poets may be weak

Poets may be vulnerable

Poets may be weary

Poets may be filaments

Poets may be foils

Poets may be figments

Poets may be fragmented

Poems are not

Poems are prisms

Poems are prisons

Poems are pristine

Poems are pragmatic

Poems are prismatic

Poems are primordial

Poems are primitive

They unfold and untie

They untie and unite

Every thoughts into a debris

Every debris into an ash

Every ash into a hash

Every hash into a mesh

Every mesh into a marsh

It is a convolution

It is a repulsion

It is an explusion

Of personal pages

Of parasitic pines

Into a pagan prime

Let it be a null and void

Let it be an irrational irradient

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