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Nematoda

when poetry rhymes

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Nematoda   

when poetry rhymes

its coughed out covered in slime

left un-buried like a war crime

starved of meaning, then hang for dry

it pleads with its makers, in sobing cries

empty and shallow, it meaningless, "why"

beacuse poetry is a live.

 

it cant be conjured for applause.

it must have meanings, and laws.

 

if poetry could speak it would scream "slaughter"

twisted then clenced with blood as itsbath water.

void of meaning, then passed around.

nailed tothe cross with thorns as its crown.

left naked in the corner, licking its wounds.

re-named, changed, then declared profound.

 

if it took revenge there would be hell to pay.

many so called poets, would be in dismay.

beaten and tortured, for their deaths they would pray.

the laws they so proudly broke they would obey.

oh how I wish fo that day.

 

then again, even poets can dream cant they?.

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