Liberty

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…through the keyhole of her confines, she sees how poor the world has become; Thence, she mutters;

can one ever really be free,

when all that lingers in captivity’s dust,

is the thin veiled irony,

wheezing, “Freedom cometh at a cost”?

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Cheemnonso™

Ode to Music

I’ve seen the colour of music;

yellow like a budding sunflower,

with blotted petals clothed in tumeric;

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I’ve treaded her country, so idyllic;

where love and lust tastes sweet and sour,

and the dreams bequeathed inspire moments of magic;

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I’ve heard her melody, so angelic;

easing my nightmares in the darkest hour

as the crickets chirp a solemn panegyric;

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and when I feared my world grew paralytic,

with pain urging me to cower,

she became a soothing analgesic;

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Alas, the tale she tells can sometimes seem cryptic,

as her throbbing pulses conceal its true power,

and her wordings can sometimes be toxic,

like a fierce fanged hound geared to devour;

still, I’ll forever be in awe of her alluring mystique,

for she has given me a thousand reasons to stay poetic.

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Cheemnonso™