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6/25/09

Censored

Ink blots splatter the writers tablet;
the pens' been posed to long.
Seems when censored
what was freely and uninhibited written,
drys up like a parched desert when no rain falls

Bridled pens become robotic,
when restraints fall upon the nib.
Mechanical motions,
where embers smolder.
Let loose the fetters!

It's frightening to think
someone else dictates your rhythm.
Unleash that which binds
before this too becomes extinct.
Set the poet free.

4 comments:

KB said...

I hate it when I can't write freely but sometimes others have to be thought of. Hope that makes sense.

Love ya
x

Shadow said...

ha. i have caught myself writing things, only to delete them, for it wouldn't be 'right'??? for whom? why not? who says!

Marja said...

No problems for you to set the poet free Missy I lose him very often

Missy said...

KB - true that but still, to quiet edit the coarse of a thought or moment changes the whole passion of the piece.

Shadow - I've done that too, it wasn't the same afterwards, it lost a piece of me in the edit lol.

Marja - Thanks my friend, you have a mighty nice style of writing. You've a welcoming nature amid your writes and I love them

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