"Can You Hear It?".

The Poet

A forest of oak trees doth seldom arise, not producing the paper, they make; just as forests of acorns don't fall from the sky, from resounding your crisis of faith; just as old as an oak tree that never arose, not withstanding an ultimate fate; just as loud, as an acorn doth seldom grow up in a forest, turned into estates.

ISN

this is good....



more later

The Poet

Thanks, ISN. This is the final poem of three

ISN

I want to decompose your peom......I want to but I cain't.....I will decompose.....only prose......and other paltry offerings.....I won't deconstruct poetry like this......which....gets inside......places that I don't even know myself

argonaut

are you a whitman fan?

I like this poem. I don't understand most of this poem. maybe all of it. So I think either it's difficult or you don't make sense or both. Poetry. I like it.