I am dissatisfied
With this piece
It is too trite.
The structure is too common
Too common for the subject matter
I am no pop song writer
I am an artist
A wordsmith
A listener to the soul
To the intagible
The transcendent
Which makes no sense
And guides us nonetheless
Shout your words, Muses!
Through the woods, they echo
And I hope that I may catch
A sound, a murmur, a quiet whisper
Of the wondrous things you said.
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