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Poets Hope
Poetry is a declaration of hope
A simpler way for us to cope.
And so it shall be, where we paint
Our aspirations, ever so quaint.
Although there may be unappeal visually,
It's our expressions; our imagery.
Character, you could argue, it's deficient
But we personify, isn't that sufficient?
Full, of the most grotesque, unrealistics
But we're only metaphorically sadistic.
Flamboyant, loud, so conceited Maybe its onomatopoeic, or just repeated?
But if poetry is a way to cope,
Why criticize our source of hope?
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