March 11, 2012
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A poet of ludicrious
His boils of poison
Bolied blasphemeous

In his black couldron
his words would boil
A rage of vindictive
Steaming heat of turmoil

Essence of love
Valleys of hate
Whatever you wish,
this man will create

Though, have you ever wondered
about the poet himself?
Aside from his articulated glory
Ignoring his wealth?

Where is this man
without his words?
For it seems nothing but a spinster
Suffering the poetic curse

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