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Poetic Canvas

I ask,
You reply,
Nothing else,
Just good bye.
No questions,
Only answers,
Where? When? Why?
 
Now imagine that,
But let's change the subject,
To a beautiful realm,
That an architect constructed.
 
His words build a sentence,
With a period at the end,
Not using nails or hammers,
With thoughts to comprehend.
 
To some talk is cheap,
And their money could be tight,
They have to speak a lot,
To make things turn out right.
 
The foundation of man,
Is made by his language,
I think it's so cool,
For a keen poetic canvas.
 
Painting with the tongue,
Telling poems and the sonnets,
Making things clearer,
In life's greater context.
 


©1999-2017 Steve Bujanow

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