Penning

Pen the thought released by the mind,
Mind your language until you are blind;
The sneaking up illness is present,
When chaos is disorder and heaven-sent.
You are now congratulated by those who know
What the accomplishment becomes when you bow.
The bowing is abhorrent when danger is working,
Those who spoke were the winners of lurking.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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