if the world was filled with poets
no rockects would we launch, no mountains whould we summit
the lawns would overgrow, weeds thriving
telephones would rust from lack of use
yet the sun would still shine
the world as we know it would not fall due to a society stuck in their heads
it would decay without anyone to notice
because while buildings crumbled and paint fades, the poets would be watching
watching the beauty in what was covered, overlooked, bulit over
seeing the beauty in what was already there
what had Always been there
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