Is It Poetry
To The Hidden
Without a nimble corpse,
to cross the narrow river with.
A child I see resist the urge to play
with staffs and Styx.
I resist the urge to be found out myself.
Out in the open
a source I offer to them all.
To be hidden.
Inside them all except for.
To isolate them all away from me.
Lest they consult among'st a mystery.
I have had experience being
locked within the jar.
Must my crown,
I am and more than simple beautiful.
I've had to hide myself covered in only you.
The grass and islands cover more than you.
The open-source of one that you hold dear.
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Comments about this poem (To The Hidden by Is It Poetry )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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