Poetry
Not from labour does it peek,
The rhythm of an uncouth me
Within a me.
It would be simpler if ink could gallop
Not without reigns.
Yet it escapes.
The black sense of the floating black letters
Resist the fetters resist a rhyme
Reading the beyond, yearning to meet.
Clandestine – that’s what it is.
The river is constant
About all but one.
Diffident of constancy
Seeking as it flows.
The rhythm of an uncouth me
Within a me.
It would be simpler if ink could gallop
Not without reigns.
Yet it escapes.
The black sense of the floating black letters
Resist the fetters resist a rhyme
Reading the beyond, yearning to meet.
Clandestine – that’s what it is.
The river is constant
About all but one.
Diffident of constancy
Seeking as it flows.
3 comments:
i love the rythm in this one. i love the way the rythm breaks at moments.
the images are brilliant, i could almost visualize the entire thing! :)
@ blow
only u read this...no1 else did...
boo hooo
:P
thankee :)
The abstraction is great (I mean not much and none to less)...y don't u give the poem a title.
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