Free verse is all porridge and poetry
Mixed and thrown together like a whirlwind of expressive rage
Hot in the pot and bubbling away
An orator who’s been told life is poetry and anger swirled all together,
Sounding like a dear old bird chirping,
Not so. Beaten into life by the wordsmith’s device
Heated words used in free verse candor
Sounding like he’s got a grip
Dying on the inside, the boy’s got lip
When a wind is getting closer
The poet dives for self-respect
The free verse expresses regret.
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