Poet's Insanity

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Anticipation and
Frustration, mix

Become a
Medley, a

Frenzied waltz
Inside her head, become

Tangled and
Intricately intertwined,

Wound
Into knots

Of multicolored yarn
But their colors

Will never mix
To

Become brown;
They stay apart,

Mixing
Not into convictions–

Not in to signs –
But into separate beliefs and

Thoughts, into poems
Always too close to

Becoming madness
Tauntingly, tantalizingly

Close, yet never
Close enough;

The poet’s mind,
Always on the verge

Of tortured insanity,
Does not often submit to its

Future and
Destiny.





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