Poetry

Each poem,
An individual work of art,
Is unique and undeniably original.
Like people,
No two are exactly alike,
And must therefore be treated accordingly.

Some are to be delicately cherished
Like a rare glass figurine –
Breathtakingly lovely,
But so incredibly fragile
That an dark glance would cause it to shatter,
Its broken pieces shimmering faintly in your hand.

Others,
Like oak trees,
Simply state themselves,
Standing tall and unyielding
Against even the fiercest gust of criticism.

And still more
Are like wet clay,
Molding and adjusting themselves
To individual circumstances.

Each poem simply exists as what it was created to be,
Nothing more and nothing less,
And must not be compared to that which it can never be,
Or judged
One against the other.

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