Poetry
Some poets who like to write poetry
do not like to read poetry.
Some poets who like to read poetry
do not like to write poetry.
Some poets who like to write and read poetry
do not write poetry.
But then, what is poetry
but a bunch of words that someone loves.
And what are “words”?
Nothing?
Well, perhaps the footprints of something
left in time?
What makes the footprints, then?
Perhaps poetry can exist without a poet
to walk through this world of ours.
But who would then love it?
Perhaps the Word?
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