When society is ready to stone the poets on every corner, the song of love made mute.
At poet's corner we speak the lyrics of our souls, we give love voice and pray it flies well into the ether to amplify the vibrations of divinity.
From the poet's corner we speak of the beauty of creation, of how it is integral to our souls, woven into the fabric of our very being.
Upon the poet's corner we are in the corner of love, in this rope-less pen, this boxing ring of the heart.
A pen is for chickens, a coup is for the morally bankrupt, the poet instead has their corner where all are free to listen as much as they wish, always free to take their leave.
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