In The Making Poem by Oleg Vorobyov

In The Making

Rating: 3.5


The destiny's child summons humours and rheums
To build more stamina in its flabby form.
The crust of the planet its innards exhumes
To posture as shrivelled, contortionist worm...

Who cares for meaning in these frenzied tropes
To clinch to precision the wordiness rank?
Perhaps, to resort to vague Logos he hopes,
Where only soars high an unreachable plank.

The stamper of keys, knows he what's his reach?
The jumble of fonts and zigzaging flash-thoughts.
Does have he to teach he's supposed to preach
In skein of ideas and tangle of words?

In The Making
Tuesday, September 18, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: ideology
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
What is word and how it actually relates to what we are, we do? Is it an embroidery or vain air concussion? Sophistry's benefit?
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Ifediirichukwu Victor 18 September 2018

what a nice poem you have here. Go on changing ideologies for the better. read my poem You were never alone thanks

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Oleg Vorobyov 19 September 2018

Thanx, Victor for liking my composition!

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