Now as the words just dissolve,
unable to move a mind
unwilling to break a resolve.
It’s not in clever words, I realize,
where I seek my riddles,
where I seek my prize.
Is there less truth in trite?
any less metal in rusting iron,
than in gold polished bright?
“... There is something awe-inspiring in loosing all inhibitions.”
1 comment:
Good to see a poem of your own...
Gold compared to the iron of poetry unknown :)
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