Day 104: Poetry

300 Days of Writing

Day 104 Poetry:

The language came and went.

It flowed and burned and boiled and blew.

The tongue rolled. The teeth cut.

The cheeks flexed and parted.

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There was nothing poetic about the words.

There was no magic in them.

It was the soul,

Who hunted fast,

And crafted something from none.

Сайхан Бичээрэй!

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