A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


If we could glimpse that secret,
Then conjour up a name,
Approaching a likeness
To destiny's beam,
Before the prism splits apart,
That sole spring of diversity,
The unwritten prelude
To all liberty,
To each luxurious moment
Of fanciful denial,
Every conceit of the human heart,
Would we dare speak
That word of words,
Set amongst
All those we share,
And pretend our understanding?

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