This Is It : Spoken Word Poem
Am no longer that kid,that bro,
No longer that pro,whom you expect to blow,No longer that man in the mirror,
I rife with symbolism, ...
When a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold
Is sent to be flatted or wrought into length,
It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'd
In an engine of utmost mechanical strength.
Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears
Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show,
Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears,
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