O We Poets...4
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O we poets spend our time searching for
The lost nursery bones of memory.
We try to open each and every door
Of consciousness. Yet it's only in dreams,
It seems, that we discover purity.
We may transcribe it in torturous ways,
Yet the quest for ideal forms of beauty,
Spur us on through life's dense, miasmal haze.
Bu şiiri puanla
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