The Wise Remain
A poem about undying wisdom
Pen on written paper makes no mark;
It only fills what little gap remains.
Many marks, and marks turn into stains
Like hats pulled down to shield eyes in the dark.
Words, they dry before the ink can dry.
They’re torn apart so as to not remain
But they still flow. They do not feel the pain.
Wise, they dry but none shall ever die.
Hardy wisdom draws up all the seas
And makes them rain into themselves again.
Cloud and sea, no differences remain
While wise old words, they flow. They do not cease
For all is water, undying in ease.
The mind rains
Experiences unite us. I believe words can provide these experiences. The Poet is just one of many ways to share them.
The Poet fuses my reality and imagination using rhythm and rhyme.
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