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POETS ARE LIARS
Do not take these lines to heart for they're the many facetted words of a poet open to an endless sea of intentions. Mind you, 'poets are liars', they say. Do not give them thought either no, for they're elusive like the whooshing sea breeze & thus do not hold for you even a pinch of salt, let alone pass for a discourse. Pass on without a word pass on as cold as a raspy harmattan morning, bland & husky with fog Pass on as deaf as a stone to the fetching syllables of this verse for they're the slimy old serpent waiting to beguile you into the things to that you should keep away from, that drives one to the edge of the cliff. Pass on as keen as a distant stranger for this verse is not for you & is aeons far from you like the cerulean sky from the deep blue seas! Pass on complacently & without a grain of empathy for these lines for poets are epistemic lunatics hopelessly lost in the utopic jungle of their thoughts. O you must watch your steps even as you pass by & never fall in love with this poet lest you forget your gold in his poems; fall asleep on delilah's thighs & wake up a slave to a habit of perpetual anguish For his words are charming & succulent as mango fruits & bitter-sweet & stale as vinegar & robs you of the peace & bliss of innocence O poets are liars, are scheming, quixotic minstrels who more than often, knows better than the truth, to dazzle folks home with gongorism & striking metaphors into battle with the world, armed only with the cudgel of pain & dissent.