Untitled

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What's a word

If the very utterance of a letter

Is at most absurd,

And commonly sworn upon?

Would I not grant

Hope a second acquired chance,

Then let my chant

Be as fallacious as your words.

So let your eyes behold

The acquaintance of mine and exonerate

Your soul of what you've told

Yesterday or throughout years before.

Or let your pride be blessed

With an echo of a promise

To me you've said

A day before you left.

Or let your lips be shut

So your words can stay

Deep within your gut,

Where they ought to be.

But you dare not ask about

The meaning of my

Everlasting thought;

A promise I'd never utter.

And dare not speak

Of my stanzas

Or a reason so plain

As to why I leave my poem untitled.


Wid Almadani

 11 pink

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