A poem in free verse A week flies by,Few words falling from fingers,Instead, They dance in the brain,Pirouette and sustain,Position,On the tips of their toes,They strike a pose,Preforming for a crowd of one,In a dusty theatre,That sees no sun,But, bright and living,Feeling,Giving,Whether booked in a playhouse,Of purposeful prose,Or, aimless artistry,Just creating,To create,We create, Because weContinue reading “Theatrics”
Poetry, and other thoughts, by Darius the Mate
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