January 20, 2011

Lost Poetry

Eyes scan the crowd,
Ears perked for the familiar,
My nose is ready
To pick up the scent.

My gaze shifts constantly,
Focusing on all.
My eyes rest never
As I search for poetry.

The sounds of crowd
Is filtered by my ear,
Focusing on none,
As I search for poetry.

The scent of crowd;
Sweet, sweat, sour
Is discarded aside
As I search for poetry. 
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