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I'm an edgy young writerThis poem is rather odd.
It is of course in free verse.
It follows no meter nor rules and is just generally messy.
That line was huge.
Some would call it open poetry.
Some would call it waste of .
Some would call it waste, bruv.
This is the second paragraph.
In case you had not noticed before.
This poem will
It has already been
for a while now so you should be alright.
While I am here
I will take the time
To talk about hmmmmm, whatever comes into my head.
Because (as we have established before) I am an edgy young writer.
This caps lock key sticks.
My watch is bad.
Everyone is looking at me writing this really bad poem.
This really bad poem.
But a really bad poem can be a really good open(!) poem.
That was very edgy because I am an edgy young writer.
Everyone knows that because I am wearing black.
That makes me edgy.
Edgy edgy edgy.
Like that word.
I will send this to photocopied since they welcome you
they meant something.
A father, 62.
A daughter, 9.
A husband, 28.
They are nothing now,
But the scars of time.
A lover, 17.
A son, 34.
A mother, 53.
When we gather here,
We return them
To the ground,
Unsure how long
He reads Ben Jonson
To the party.
But the child of his right hand
Won't be called on the just day.
No comfort in the dead man's words.
I pass by, wondering, what the stones mark;
As children dance on the fields of the dead.
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