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The Making of Poetry

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You can scrape your knee.
Your hand can brush theirs, only for a moment.
Every move you make is poetry.
Every time you blink your eyes.
Every time you don’t understand.
You are creating poetry.
The crack of your softball bat, scoring a goal,
making a basket,
writing a poem.
Those evenings where it’s just you,
alone with your thoughts and the
summer sky, stained pink with sunset.
A thought, a wonder.
Your heart can yearn for them.
And you write it out, dawning something beautiful-
a poem.





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