Razor-sharp Words
Striking verses, delayed punches.
One after the other, at a steady pace.
You saw them coming, those solid feints.
They announce their power,
they aim not to deceive you.
You can’t help to get hit, tho,
they move your center of mass.
You found a new point of equilibrium.
You don’t run away from a good ‘fight’, do you?
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Reveries That I Call Poetry 
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