Steward of the Written Word

Devices that are literary, I sent to them a day’s invite. RSVP has been unclear, I don’t know who I expect tonight. They’re your friends too, these things I write: rhythm, rhyme, and all that shite.

Maybe we’ll be joined by awe-inspiring alliteration. Always assuming at the alter if it’s allowed to join our station. All I know is if an awkward audience allowed, I’d augment such an allegation. For we all know that as a host, it’s awf’ly an’gring aggravation.

When he arrives, I’ll check the door. For I’ve been waiting, metaphor. Join us as we turn this page into a platform, poet’s stage.

Words provide my soul’s hydration, and holds it’s hands with personification .

I see the forest from the tree, for we can’t leave out simile. The branches flow like waves in sea, almost as if they’re one with me.

Two things comparing, you suppose? Don’t worry, that’s just juxtapose.

We’re here, they’re here, here’s one condition. Here’s where we find our own position, for here is our friend, repetition.

I see the future, you must know, because I’m keen with foreshadow

Confused was I with all these locks. It’s turned into a paradox.

Despite our difference, you and me, we’re both the same. What irony!

Cover your ears! Don’t let them see ya! BOOM goes onomatopoeia

Since last we met, a century. But that might be hyperbole

Okay boomer, you know so much about attire. Don’t make me laugh through my satire.

I’ll subtly say this poem is done, through this here cryptic allusion

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