Political Science
As I write,
I talk, speaking in to my pen,
Pouring words like dew-drops,
On to a body of paper ice-sheets cold,
With only warmth from my hand,
A translation for the singing-trees,
Filled with sunshine and reaching upwards,
Shouting to the sky and up on high colourful-birds;
Sweetly singing : A writer's song.
A poet's lasting phrase,
Ringing 'decibels' in my ears, loudly drumming,
Healing a politician's ache and the 'hearty-fakery',
Of the crowds flocking amongst themselves,
Like swans swimming with clowns,
In a wild-blue lake brimming with prospects.
I talk, speaking in to my pen,
Pouring words like dew-drops,
On to a body of paper ice-sheets cold,
With only warmth from my hand,
A translation for the singing-trees,
Filled with sunshine and reaching upwards,
Shouting to the sky and up on high colourful-birds;
Sweetly singing : A writer's song.
A poet's lasting phrase,
Ringing 'decibels' in my ears, loudly drumming,
Healing a politician's ache and the 'hearty-fakery',
Of the crowds flocking amongst themselves,
Like swans swimming with clowns,
In a wild-blue lake brimming with prospects.
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