Is it still poetry if punctuation and pauses, amiss And the lines follow no symmetry when words doesn't chime a rhyme. Is it called a poem If branching from one stem, the idea later scattered, Turns opaque and blurred. Is it even a verse, if into your psyche dark, it cannot promptly traverse. Leaves behind no imprint, no mark. Is it a composition if the paras do not trigger, And evoke deep within, Some requisite transition. Is it named a sonnet if defying a rhythmic array, no sensations, it does elicit. Upon completion, there's no take away. Is it decorous penning, if devoid of central thread only on scraps of paper, the ink is bloating and staining. Is writing done whole, If some structured text, do not feed the soul Mere aggregation of words, unroll Does it then, still fulfill it's purpose, it's role?
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Poetry has no rules and that's the best part of it
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