Oh poetry, I love you, the many faced muse. No insight just some syllables to stumble through and use. ........ Poetry is knowledge, for those without a clue no chance at making sense at all, the written word's obtuse grasp at meaning, hit a wall, the thickness makes it true men of clay seek vainly with no veins to lead them to the fundamental truth is it grey or amber hued ensure words of meaning baked in you reflect the common view my rainbow is a fount of knowledge little known to you no foundation just the brilliance of meaning in situ ........ ........ I noticed once the lord Almighty in patterns deep and thick so naughty had made upon his plan that day lines of meaning washed away in sand so broken no colors show just tan and khaki who could know what caused the wave that shook the flow symbols, knowledge, I sound crazy I know ........