The Biopsy of a Poet

In the depth of the night
Cloaked in silence, Words visit me
There is a strange sense of anticipation
in this hour of darkness.

I am blown away
by the idiosyncrasy of these metaphors
Like the fragrance of the morning mist
I embrace this fresh breeze

The verses within me take forms
Shining out of my words
The poetry in me is alive again
My individuality clefts open

I am the oblivion, I am the blaze
I am weak yet powerful
Under these new clouds of myth shattering
My joy is quick and short

What brilliance is my soul chasing?
A muse to enmesh my words with
Perhaps a cadence to write more
to satiate myself in marathons of poetry.

Like some great love that perishes with time
I listen myself, while I become a writer
I read ballads, written for myself
and not for a dime or a dream.


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