I know a poet! He fills not his words with meaningless rhymes,
Setting stanzas so neat like a falling snow.
His ink floats through everyone’s mind:
Open or close, eyes of a poet sees from a thousand miles.
He penned an egg into existence
Perfectly without being penitence.
There, the journey started according to his words.
And the inked-egg turned into a pullet
And the pullet walked on his poetic lines
Tussled with tide while trying to avoid an evil-piolet.
The last stanza,
Unvailed the fadeness of the light
And the ugly face of the dark.
Here, the pullet turnned into a cock.
And the cock fought endlessly
A battle of a written destiny,
And finally heed the sudden call of time.
All that as been written by a mighty poet.
A.O.steph (The Antidote Ink)