The document is a poem praising poetry. It uses repetitive phrases to assert that nothing is above, below, to the sides of, overlapping, or beyond poetry. It states that poetry faces no antagonism, victimization, questioning, dictation, or discarding. The poem asserts that whatever the author dreams or possesses is solely about and within poetry itself.

1. MY POETRY
Nothing above it; not even an infinitesimal iota towering above its majestically
untainted and gloriously unhindered swirl,
Nothing below it; not even a mercurial iota lurking beneath its fantastically pristine
and sensuously enthralling identity,
Nothing antagonistic to it; not even an inconspicuous shade contradicting its
bountifully emollient and triumphantly benign ramifications,
Nothing to the right of it; not even a transient degree swerving from its effulgently
mellifluous and timelessly ecstatic shadow,
Nothing to the left of it; not even an ethereal millimeter away from its victoriously
beautiful and interminably poignant cascade,
Nothing overlapping it; not even the most invisible whisker trying to obscure its
ebulliently virile and royally unassailable luminescence,
Nothing sidelining it; not even the most obfuscated ingredient of royalty attempting
to devour its altruistically brilliant and impregnably sparkling integrity,
Nothing overlooking it; not even an ephemeral molecule of indifference to its
fervently undefeated and unconquerably ubiquitous caress,
Nothing victimizing it; not even an invisible ingredient of venomous commercialism
trying to ensnare its uninhibitedly magical and voluptuously fecund wings,
Nothing beyond it; not even a diminutive speck of tantalizing mirage; trying to
seductively lure beyond its beautifully sculptured and unbelievably enamoring
contours,
Nothing surrounding it; not even an evanescent mist of mouth watering temptation
encapsulating its perennially fructifying and compassionately befriending scepter,
Nothing blocking it; not even an unmentionably fugitive obstruction to its timelessly
unfettered and astoundingly inimitable fragrance,
Nothing hypnotizing it; not even an obliterated spell of drudged witchcraft trying to
control its insuperably magnificent and fathomlessly spotless soul,

2. Nothing empowering it; not even the tiniest trace of the tyrannically robotic devil
trying to maliciously overwhelm its undyingly winning and divinely infallible
incantation,
Nothing questioning it; not even a single moment of interrogation to its unshakably
irreproachable and eternally burgeoning seed,
Nothing dictating it; not even an infidel insinuation of cold-blooded doggedness
against its wondrously omnipotent and insatiably passionate heartbeats,
Nothing burying it; not even a minuscule thread of manipulation trying to brutally
asphyxiate its eternally ravishing and universally blissful appeal,
Nothing discarding it; not even a transitory beacon of oblivion viciously
trying to gobble its everlastingly sacrosanct and endlessly intrepid odysseys,
As whatever I had; dreamt or ever possessed; was solely and perpetually in it; was
solely and perpetually for it; was solely and perpetually about it; was infact solely and
perpetually “IT” itself; and this “IT” would forever and ever and ever mean
my “Poetry”.