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Found Poetry 631

5/21/21

glory to music, for it can heal wounds
stop bleeding and close holes
an escort into the dark
filling up the hollows
each culture knows this, but
we are all constantly distracted
and our day-to-day deformed
as a picture half-melted in a house fire
wood frame barely hanging on
but we are all instruments
voices and bodies of reeds and brass
tough sticks and flexible strings
let's leave notes for each other
as both composers and listeners

This poem was created from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Click here to get Leaves of Grass.

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