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da DUM... da DUM........da DUM.... my elderly once told me......poetry is the language of the godsa divine voice spoken throughout timeperfection echoing in every line......Shakespearean... Petrarchan...of Sonnets and iambic pentameters.......the burden of crying octaves within fourteen days of a hopeful sestet......the morning sun would risebut what if i see it in a different stroke?what if my pen speaksnot to the gods... but to every fading heartbeat?what if i don't like to fly like a kite?to touch the cloudenjoying the bliss freedom but not really free...what if i fly...fly with the wisp in the breeze?a journey with the leafto be with the sky...what if i drift.......riding upon unicorns... lightning... thoughts...will i be cursed by the heavens...writing a hundred daysunderneath the moonlight?
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