poetry, poetic, poem

I cannot see
What’s beyond
There’s this thing
Called poetry

They say it heals
Like nothing else
Shakespeare’s words
Magic to your own

Poetry is visions
Of the heart like
Stains of blood
On satin walls

Poetry cannot mean
More but the sentiment
Of the words lulling
On golden paper

It cannot know more
Than the tune it rings
But it is nothing
Without meaning

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