Forever Written
Ashby Smith

Poetry is feeling
The pen in your hand
The keys under your fingers
Wandering through your own land.

Here I am safe
I make all the rules
The exceptions to them
The punishments for breaking them too.

Safe from harm
The world wants to cause
Poetry is my antiseptic
The paper my gauze.

For the wounds that incur
In this fight to survive
As long as poetry doesn’t die
I will be alive.

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