Where Are The Words?
That mean more than their own literalness?
Where are the wild metaphors that surprise?
Where are the lines of beauty that inspire?
Where is some mystery some irony some deep perception?
Where is Beauty?
Where are the words
That are true Poetry?
And not the flat, static, empty, literal words
I write and write
Against the emptiness
Of my own faltering life?
Shalom Freedman's Other Poems
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