At the touch of something divine,
A mere moment assumes new significance,
Yet, basking in the glorious world, words,
Words diminish the new meaning, perchance,
ashamed of their own nudity
A poet's words are often a vain attempt,
To fit an entire world in verse,
For to freeze time requires more than rhyme
To paint a moment requires more than canvas
In each poem are just jumbled words
No perfect poem ever makes sense
If it does, then it isn't a poem
No one is obliged to understand a poem
Many were composed by poets high on drugs
And the rest battling internal demons
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