Molten Poetry

Let it burn.

You speak in strokes
of calligraphy or cursive,
with your ugly lies yoked
by such lovely verses.

Begone, silver-tongue!

We, in our truth, will
not stoop to be among
liars, thieves, or shills,
that sign their names
in plagiarized feelings
and speak of things
they could not possibly feel.

Whether calligraphic,
or cursive,
your cursed words
are the worthiest
reflection of your soul,
whether it’s
stroke is black
or simply

imperfect.

© Tenpenny, 2019.

6 thoughts on “Strokes

  1. tara caribou says:

    Oh my goodness. This is quite striking and I felt it inside. Very very good and I really like it.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Tenpenny says:

      I am happy to hear this. I’m not too sure what it means, but I enjoyed the beats of it.

      Like

      1. tara caribou says:

        You mean, you don’t understand your own poem or what I wrote?

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Tenpenny says:

        My poem. I usually write somewhat stream of consciousness, so there’s a mystery sometimes. I know what it *means* just not who it’s addressed to.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. tara caribou says:

        Okay. I can completely understand that. (I generally let my stories and poetry write themselves.) still. This spoke to me. So thank you for that. I really like your poetry, by the way. It touches me every time.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. Tenpenny says:

        High praise. Thank you so much

        Liked by 1 person

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