Misunderstood

A poem is always misunderstood

By those who live in world of bad and good

For the world is connected in odd coincidence

Not a purposeful directed incidence

While putting value to nonsense

Or changing constants

To a poet the world is a song

And words, whatever they are, never go wrong

They are the tunes and rhythms

To unknown algorythms

Of the universe at large

As we cast away on this rotund barge.

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