Burial Words

Poetry is given a bad name
It is boxed in like death once alive.
So much power to words who cling
Or fight or match or roar and sing

Poetry is not magic, say
Its charm belongs not with this guise.
The truth of the matter comes from the source
That the inspiration of a piece is its prize.

The fact that words soar and creak
Does not prove true the ideas they speak
Ignore the charm of whispered rhymes
Refuse to consume harmonious lies.

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