Self Taught

I still think
good words stringed together
make music:

Today, I rose to find
red roses
waiting for me by a window.
I turned its pages and felt a breath blow out
my muse.

Whispering aloud, I knew
a string throb,
a metre escalate,
inarticulate throbs burn…

And then I shook away the delusion
My poem, ‘twas.

I wish someone would teach me humility.

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