He stares
at his hand
and the pen
as it levitates
over a blank page
not just waiting for a word
but a rare polished gem
that’ll never be mined
only to be replaced
by some fool’s gold
d r o s s
unrefined
never to hold any value
meaning
sense
And he smiles
w i d e l y
as he sighs
without a breath
‘This is Poetry at its best’
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