Porridge and poetry

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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