How poor their love must be;
for so-called poetry
for praising such a piece
of wasted symmetry;
though poems needn't be
controlled in such degree;
or formal as a plea;
or solely meant for glee;
'tis needed to be real;
and blissfully be free;
that scars of poet heal,
for never it's just mere,
their lines just break;
though never fake,
neither opaque,
but lazy vague;
and for that they're poet;
how basically easy;
they must haven't known it
exceeds above cheesy;
maybe time shall dictate
commands to clear their mess;
on poetry and state
you haven't met your best.
