A Poet

A poet's conflicting mind,
and silently plunging heart,
are the reasons the verses are penned,
One must not restrain that classic art,

The bygone poets, a miniscule of their grace,
runs outrageously in our veins,
Absoluteness of expressions is a bliss,
It's our respite in the phrasal abyss,

To some, these words might be beyond discerning,
But the right one, would fathom its meaning .......

(c) S.S


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