Translation of a FeelingA Poem by ElohaThese were the uncuttable
poems Nobody understood so easily,
as other writers The fact that you can’t fold
a poem around A butter knife, you can’t
tell a muse She is the muse without
damaging the poem The poem is forced into the
reader Like bread and wine, there
is no counterpoint No dialect, no firm pressure
of the hand on pleasure It’s just smooth writing
paper, petals firmly inward These word fibres are only
echoes composed Out of the dalliance of
minutes wasted on Breaths and heart-beats,
letters undelivered. © 2013 ElohaFeatured Review
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Added on January 13, 2013Last Updated on January 13, 2013 AuthorElohaAboutMy Mission Statement: To hold contests for the community at large with fun accmulated rankings that display true poetic merit. * * * .. more..Writing
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