Beating around the bush
bound to bring to life
The beasts that were lying
dead and yet in wait
Coming to the point
an exercise pointless
Alas, made useful
by the premise glorified
Creeping between shivers
and goosebumps unseen
Emerges the portrait
painted haphazard,
chaotic to a fault,
so life-like
In these bushes beaten about
lay the very birds one were trying
to free the hands of,
to hold life
To glean meaning
of the pointless sojourn,
breath to breath,
without digression into life
distracting each moment
Such a waste,
a masterpiece ruined
by a rogue artist
blinded by purpose
and focus riveting
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