TO BLEED FOR ONES CRAFT
Some poems my mind cannot conceive,While a few do not wish to leave.
My mind's eye cannot possibly perceive,
Why only fragments of verse remains.
In someone who loves to read poetry,
That has a lexdysia short in his brain.
I used to, l could do seems to be my traits,
For forever forgetting is all I do as of late.
Yet I don't deserve to be revered, For poeteers
everywhere are much better than myself.
There is no I or me in my poetry,
Just a loathing for oneself.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
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Written on 2023-04-02 at 00:30
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