Critique

It started with ride of my thought,
With my pen running pride aloft,
Walking in elegance of no fault,
Until critique wandered and find one,
Not to pleasure for my fall,
But to bring out the best from my thought.
Making me Giant and spring forth.

I cry hard when he sees my tort,
Taking me through his own court of thought,
With no one to save me from his discomfort,
That distort my new found love,
But all; his out to save my ride up to the top.

I wish to see him no more,
But no I wish to see him the more,
For he will surely write his thought,
Then will take his position and fight him on all,
With my beautiful pen of thought,
That sprout out mores and norms.

          Poet: Oso Olasunkanmi

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