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Gord

Amateur Hairline


Lawn Floral
Amateur poet, ultimate,
Heroic, stoic, slowest,
Everything rhymed about,
Hopeful of inchoate.
Chum of the lake, think,
Who is the wake for?
Dead men living pale,
or those living, 
Mouth agape, ailing,
Flailing their limbs,
Scene akimbo,
Fare unanswered,
Meter fake.

So they take what is mine,
Question pondered,
What is life plastered?
Humanity mastered,
Time honored,
or is it a last laugh,
before dying afterward?

Poets lie yet find alms,
Measured footsteps bald,
Words lifelessly clever,
Heart hard to hold palm;
Old arms to old arms,
Adages stolen loved upon;

Bard holy, arch golden,
To carve lonely,
Barns beholden,
Nothing nobel.
Par normally, like poultry,
To starve colts.

Ark art, Swan gone,
Dark garb, lark fawned,
Opposite of his mind,
He finds laughter,
Chapter after chatter,
Chancellor gone;
He defines pattern,
An afterthought.
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December 27, 2017 10:00 am
44 lines, 134 words