There are Thousands of words, And they all Crowd my head, And what sits In my mind Is just there To be said, Somewhere In the forest Of consenents And vowels A dark wolf Of bias, Sits and he howls. Walls, high Stone walls Of words Left unspoken Or their Meaning given A cheap, Facile token Of their Appreciation,
Misunderstanding is The poets vocation Where words Come to die, or At least Take a vacation. True words There never were There is no lie, There is no true, To understand, And not to do. These words, Not so, unreal, They do but, Meaningless, time steal.
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Thousands of words,
And they all
Crowd my head,
And what sits
In my mind
Is just there
To be said,
Somewhere
In the forest
Of consenents
And vowels
A dark wolf
Of bias,
Sits and he howls.
Walls, high
Stone walls
Of words
Left unspoken
Or their
Meaning given
A cheap,
Facile token
Of their
Appreciation,
Misunderstanding is
The poets vocation
Where words
Come to die, or
At least
Take a vacation.
True words
There never were
There is no lie,
There is no true,
To understand,
And not to do.
These words,
Not so, unreal,
They do but,
Meaningless,
time steal.