The Great-Unpoetic Creature

August 21, 2016
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A queer swan in the mirror,
vacillating between a rose and a black hole.
He chose to steer along the path he saw as clearer;
saw a white screen stained with poor traits.
Power struggles over hours from a portrait,
painting a picture of caricature of character he used to know.

Old leaves seen as they fall to earth.
A yellow text left a white swan dusted in dirt;
like when Eve took a bite and had to swallow the truth.
Even Eden can be hell-risen, even a swan's song has a capacity to be re-written.
A song of options, a sonnet adopting differing tunes;
tale of summer night, falling cold in June.

A queer swan standing in front of a mirror,
validating the calls of ugly ducklings.
The muse who stood mute; now chuckling.
He used to hear, before brain beaten-brute turned bruised.
White swan singing hues of blues from a yellow book.
Green with envy; letting his mirror garner grime.
A white swan who peaked and sneaked past his prime;
Past the veil, a painting of a man who tried to make lemonade with limes.

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