'the language of the age is never the language of poetry'

Poetry withered under the dust of time, pure abstract thinking, frenzy alleviated by skeptics, adventurous sentimental ideals, colourful vice, graceless or mechanical, stiff unbending concrete, an inherent language, never a piano's nocturne, no rhapsody, no concerto, sporadic bohemic appearances, notions of poetry, strike of understatements, infinite amount of creation, consumerism, comercial air, artistry.

...Bright orange colors of sunset