YL ( / Dipolog City)

...Dear Poetry...

Poetry,
your the only who can understands me
no rejection,
no criticisms,
in my own madness
of incarceration
you are my repose
my mental asylum
in the process
how my poisonous mind
collaborates with just
pure simple thoughts
Free verse
as what its supposed to be
deviating from the conventional
detaching
suffocation,
suppression,
censorship's deportation
its hard to fathom
the depth of reality
but i breathed
some sense of compatibility
between you and me
as the matters purports
what it seems to be...

oh! Poetry
expressing some lines of thoughts
about ordinary
nature things of life
the habits attached on it
are among the greatest matters
beyond control
its not
the stipulations of facts
nor writing
what one thinks
or the tricking of the words
but the
materialization of self expression
it need not be elucidated
the mawkish feeling
that captivates my being
just letting the thing
speaks for itself
a silent complicity
yet irrebuttable
nonetheless
it boils down
in the love of poetry..

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Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

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