I Once Wrote a Poem

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I once wrote a poem with so much grieve and pain
It sparked with anger from its sharp steels of blade
My pen traced fire because I infected it with rage
I read it aloud...never thought it would sound so sane
I repeated reading it until consciousness emerged like a river from my brain
It remained a secret from society because from it they had nothing to gain.
If I shared it with the world, my agony and hurt
Or if I shared it for another individual's self worth
Would the poem heal or make a difference?
Pessimistically, I classified it all as just plain non sense because
No sense was origin of my dark crevice that led to a world of violence

I once wrote a poem that did not rhyme
The challenge lay in its rhythm and efforts to maintain time
It did not make sense though the words spoke clarity
Merely the language lacked depth, love, and charity
To avoid shame I used the excuse: it's not comprehensible
In my poem lack of effectiveness was ineligible
Especially when the tone was not right or the crowd could not grasp sight of my vision to convey a message so luminescent and bright.

I once wrote a poem
Really I had a silver platter filled with matters of an untold
story just waiting for issues to uphold a level of intelligence willing to unfold into the hearts and minds of an audience I dared to control and mold their thinking to my standards...I realized it became s dream too bold and dwindled down to the likes of being just a poem.

I once wrote a poem with too much thought and the words kept syncing into Columbus clouds of navigation and so I sought a method that removed punctuation from the poem's foundation. Gradually it credited itself with a sense of  that fascination; and I continued to follow it through in preparation

For the whole world to hear
Every nation would perk their ears
And with time it would become historic, yet this I feared because
History repeats itself, now that I know is clear
One thing became blurred: how could a negative connotation be free of deceit or sincere?

And so I once wrote a poem linking the chains of my life
I envisioned it would inspire and continue to write
The story of my confusions
The direction of my flow
The beauty of my imperfections
That exist throughout this poem
The nature of its tone
The peak of its climax
The future of the unknown
The consciousness of its syntax
The reaping of fruits continuously sewn
The mystery of life
The intentions of death
The wonders of Christ
The rivers of knowledge that flow with certain breadth

Because I once wrote a poem and that was it
It was an idea influenced by words, justified by the power to make a difference

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