SONNET NUMBER THREE The Singer The singer begins with starting breath, The birth an abstract silhouette. Both beginnings in perfect balance, A butterfly with fake falcon talons Help buttress up a mis-placed peace. New lessons learned upon release, Soft beauty granted floating by, Still germane indeed if it catch the eye And open up a whole new world. The song sits aware, no time remaining. Cold console flickers once the switch is thrown. Pressure building without constant draining, Explosions valid from the force alone. Explosions need be sweet to contradict Pale pithy pathos we self-inflict. For no heated malice can endure for long, Betwixt the singer, and the singer's song.
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