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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2287556
A Nine Square poem for Writer's Cramp
I lift and sway, then drift like soft smoke;
untethered, lighthearted, emboldened -
my colors, bright banners, are dashing.

No one sits in me, and none hold on;
uncontrolled, wandering recklessly
birds scolding: a chorus of warning.

I do not hear; I am lost and gone
forever, imagined symphonies
left a-ground for others to compose.



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