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a riddle




A Riddle

What dost though think, what can thy be?
Beheld within these words is me.
Search throughout and you won't find
any inkling of my kind.
Body have I, mind I do not
--begin lacking end--start lacking stop.
My structure holds feet and with them comes beet
in varied combinations.
Find an open window in a house of gloom
--'tis I.
Though open wide, at times
I've surely proven to be shy.
Just as in a bowl of JELL-O,
bowl removed, JELL-O remains,
If one should choose to change my form
myself I will contain.
Unlike this mold of JELL-O though,
my structure holds a clue
to what I say or how it's said
or what it means to you.
My song runs smooth with melody
and travels plainly to the sea
but not in ways that man can see
sometimes he must look deeper.
Vengeful as the crashoing waves;
incarnation of the soul.
Many use me to escape 
the times when life charges its' toll.
Created by all, but only by one,
letting me out can be less than fun--
received by the rest, condemned by the blind,
heated by some
     for I do not lie.