Wary of Verse

I read some verse of beauty rare
In dainty thread of words ensnared
Wrapped in hues of golden thought
The poet to weave a web had sought.

Caught- readily, and waited I-
To drown in misery – but nay-
The web – souse in stilborn rue-
Was frail and could not carry through

Peals of broken heart- they weigh
More than well wrought words can say
(But less than what is in need
To be the blissful amnesic)

They fall through and hang by verse
Over the abyss of hope- midway-

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About meenavid

Pensive thinker. Jumping bean. Loud thoughts. Loudmouth. Extreme. Ordinary. Twenty and something but what the heck, still a kid. Make a happy mess everywhere- or not. Indecisive. You see? Sigh.

Make a mess

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