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Description
pattern

In patterns subtle, whispers lie, In rhythms danced 'neath twilight sky, Baudelaire's muse, in shadows sly, A tapestry of truth and why.
Each verse a thread, a woven tale, Of love's embrace, of sorrow's gale, In patterns intricate, we unveil, The human soul, beyond the pale.
With pen in hand, he paints the night, In shades of dark, in hues of light, The poet's craft, a mystic rite, In patterns spun, in dreams ignite.
Through city streets, in misty air, He finds the beauty, the despair, In patterned chaos, he's aware, Of life's cruel jest, its tender care.
So let us weave, our own design, In patterns bold, in whispers fine, The poetry of being, divine.

Description
pattern

In patterns subtle, whispers lie, In rhythms danced 'neath twilight sky, Baudelaire's muse, in shadows sly, A tapestry of truth and why.
Each verse a thread, a woven tale, Of love's embrace, of sorrow's gale, In patterns intricate, we unveil, The human soul, beyond the pale.
With pen in hand, he paints the night, In shades of dark, in hues of light, The poet's craft, a mystic rite, In patterns spun, in dreams ignite.
Through city streets, in misty air, He finds the beauty, the despair, In patterned chaos, he's aware, Of life's cruel jest, its tender care.
So let us weave, our own design, In patterns bold, in whispers fine, The poetry of being, divine.