Faeo de Lyre

Rookie (16th August 1989 / Isseke - Ihiala)

Poesy Literary - Poem by Faeo de Lyre

'But poesy,
My echoe is not taken;
Thus,
Let me
Intil the gave-me, essay.
Do you mind my given, not?
This is intil my singular echo,
But let us not afore,
Face my reserve.'

'Is this art, political?
There art my science, but politics
They said. Taken!
But thus art a sinew
Intil dregs, my hand-full composure.
In this,
The literary tree got
A back of
My independent branching;
For a mirror of
The truth, that Literature is
Wont to picture, but must spend
You to pay you.'

'Listen to Literature, who
Allowed my gravity. You cannot
Pull me by this given, but shall pay
Allegiance alike or
More
As intil genre else.
That gravity may not all-time,
But shall allow you
A breathing
Space, awhile. A leisure
At lyre ___ to welcome
And have
Home,
Your indifference. My gravity equals
The acceleration to drive
The others sway. My constitution
Holds my beauty; my strictness
And brief.'

'Once,
Let me single,
Applaud
The Literati and visitors that thus
Abide.
As for my strangers,
Of the sugary fluid, stay
For pastimes for
Pleasure; where I receive the new
Or half
For a buyer hearts. There, I win
And lose hearts to
The shall, in that I cannot treat
Against
The nature told.'

'Literature has divided
The labour in shares and had me
To the heart ___ her secret
Place of keeps, but vague to any
Breast.
One must by Literature,
Sent,
To have from
My deposit. That is listening to conceive
This pregnancy. Thus, I am
Where her flavours
Store, but distributes in
Aromatic.
If your seeing is and science
Make, you shall have that this best is exact
And most humane. I am
To tell you my meaning,
Carve out a mirror and from games
Laconic, speak
In clarity.'

'It is my privacy, my regard-hunting in that
My composition shall be
Borne in
Hand, from a politics; not but a mere
Science. Thus, the literary
Scale,
Of genres is neither
Lopsided nor partial in
The horizon; we received in semblable.
Count
The clock, round and
Over, in the
Three. Therefore, let
The low carriers scout gamesome
Else. In choosing and
Bracketing, let their option from
Literature,
For a soft selecting. Let me too
No longer addressed by
Their miscarriage, in that I allow pastimes
Meanwhile. My leisures though
Makes
In that all work and no play makes Jack
A dull boy. So let me
From
All-puzzling.'

Be it as it may, Poesy literary
Is heartless neither, nor
Unfriendly
But scribing and laying screwed
High
Intil a sticking; so do not
Envy but mark
Her signs and run
On line, when she
Unveils it. Bear her thus right
And look her not up, still
At ease.
Let her decide and judge
Not any choosing, hers; for her nature
Thus abide.
Let her at the answer, allow her
Hard, any or
She is
From the literary. Hence, intil aroma,
Allow her flavour. That is Poesy
Literary.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 6, 2012



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