incongruent cryptic (grounded)

I’m tired of poems that end
In creative absolutes

Many poets feel they
Can betray whimsy’s very roots

Exploring the in-betweens
Uncovering hidden things
Shedding light on songs
Words cannot sing

This is the heart of
The poet’s power
Power in which they partake

Power they ultimately forsake

Stop the twisting of the mystic
Stop the interpretations of the cryptic
Stop siting the breezes in the valleys
Of the human condition as reasons for
Why you didn’t get your way

Don’t, always, never, of course
These words thrown around as if
Now, finally, the way out has been found

But this all has never been about finding new ground

When floating above the clouds
When whispering with inside-out sounds
The poet’s only way home

Is down

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