Poetic Linguistics

I breathe in fire during the days of endless sunshine,
And exhale the moon in full glow.

I am the days I soak in,
And the nights that leak from memory.

I am the garden, flowers, and growth I seek,
And the endless muscle aches of fortune I create.

I am a lost soul and I freely admit it.
I am more than I can speak of in these simple lines of poetic creation.

I want to be true inspiration,
And these dumbed down syllables I assimilate get me closer.

To be a reason, a purpose, a war cry is why I keep scribbling desperate words.

Poetry is more than past mistakes.
Poetry is more than fortunes made.
Poetry is the edge of perception,
That I hope to bend at will.

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