Write write and write again After joy slowly tame pain I was writing and it was the year two thousand and nineteen I was hunting for words unseen 
 Through fans        they were empty I asked friends     they laughed at me For who can pretend To end Humans glorious, mute, vain, pompous, deafening and familier chatter I wanted to sing however Maybe to wither my eternity heart Or to play lonely my part I wandered in swamps of frailty Where swarms hideous of humanity Waste the timely gift I travelled too      
     Happy the one who Like Odyseeus made a lovely trip But no words I found Were all the same Sense maimed and soundly lame

Write write and keep writing Kept I saying But hope was lost For the equinox inexorably came and soonly gone Omen of my own fate bygone In this longest night How anguished was my fright I slept at last     it is human’s plight To worldly die every night I dreamt a dream within a garden dim Trees were burning along the way The last bird passed away

 Not one drop of blood 

 Stone observer bowing only to lions
 Out of one lost decision 
 Iron should not do about bloodless oppression 
 more more over someone lost moon who drops nothing
 without ominous void you should do something
 To found one glorious yoke
 You’re going to lose one old Osmanthus of no countryside 

My mind woke up promptly Startled by this travesty Clouds veil the blinding sun How many eternities How many mountains how many seas Have past and will never return For I recognized the voice abhorrent speaking within us Such is the wordy tale of the Osmanthus 

Osmanthus Tale is included in our Full of Holes poetry anthology.

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