My trajectory——of metaphors,
Fails to reach the parabolic path.
Written from an angle, more or less,
45 degrees... is not that I'm sure.
Neither the force, nor the momentum,
Reaches the frequency of oscillations.
Resonating in void of my pages.
My bland words pass through,
The ink as a prism.
Some internally refracted
and shine within...
Some come out as
The rainbow poem.
Mostly fail to reach
The threshold to excite
The action potential.
And dies as a draft,
Perspiring... dust.
At times they
Object,"Milord!
Thou shall, not
Abandon thee."
I am guilty.
...
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