The Tongue Twister.

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I cringe and crumble as I butcher words

Unrelenting, ubiquitous rhythm!

Accidental, atrocious adjectives!

I am a slave to paper and pencil;

A mere mourning minion of mantra.

Poetry! You slaughter my slavish soul!

Your meticulous, menacing meter!

Your scrupulous, soul sucking similies!

I bow to you, clever master of words.

I remain staring into the abyss.

1 Comments

Your verses honor diction-loving bards
Who match their feelings to the sounds of words.

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