Elena Morozov
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Poetry Crime

One more page has been ripped apart
One more line crossed out
Feeling chills going up my spine
Writting poems has become a crime

No one uses Shakespeare style
To tell a woman the deep desires
No one sends goosebumps up our spines
With words of something that would rhyme

Is it so hard to writte four lines
Of something simple yet desired
Is pride the reason for neglect
Or weakness substituted now for romance

A woman's heart has not changed
With centuries that came and went
We still desire the simple ryme
So since when is writing poetry a crime?

Poetry Crime © 2000 by Elena Morozov
All rights reserved.