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The Poet and His words.

Like crumbled pieces left upon his desk..
He looks for the perfect words to rhyme.
The pieces of shapes to fit perfectly
Into the scrabble played in his mind..

Emotions play a vital role..
To prepare the subtle rhythm and flow..
Conceived in his mind, in times past
When love made his heart to glow.

He looks at the piece of his paper
And sees the image drawn out..
Places his words upon the lines,
Carved out of the hills in his mouth..

His storms becomes the roses
Upon which he derives strength..
His words becomes the sanctuary..
Where reality is paid as one-tenth.

Seeking pleasure amidst the silence..
He looks at the mirror of his emotions..
All he sees is deafening silence..
Swimming in the depths of three oceans..

Time, Destiny and Fulfillment..
Becomes the engine driving his thoughts.
Love becomes the fuel..
That takes him to the hills of the north.

He sees his words as his children..
To be protected, nurtured, and catered for..
he feeds them with the breast-milk of wisdom
Gotten from the glory days of yore.

And through the night, he still writes on
to the graceful shine of a glorious dawn.
To days when in the mirth of throes
Witness the joyous tears of morn.

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