Poetry is not a dying art
For it is by which my words come alive
And the mind has the chance to speak
As the heart can express how it feels.
It is what has saved my soul from drowning
When trials come unrelenting
It has transformed what seems like fleeting
To something everlasting.
As long as there is something to write about
To ponder over and to confess
Though the heart and
mind is sometimes a mess
It’s through poems that I can impress
Heartbreaks, joys, musings, and pains
As long as there are words to say
Poetry shall find its way.
And poetry will never be a dying art
As man, thinks, breathes, and feels
And through the test of time and seasons
Poems shall forever withstand
And I shall write again and again with all my heart.
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