Teaching Blind he told us we were wrong he told us that poetry Was not a freeing thing But a list of patterns Of rules Of restricted feelings Written down and shortened Made to be interpreted in one single way And so I asked him, "How can this be?" Poetry has always been a tangible thing It's a living, breathing, writhing beast It has no limits And it cannot be breached I told him it did not matter how we read it The words will all have different Meaning Do not categorize Or shoot them down Because there is nothing wrong here But you not seeing.
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