Is It Poetry - Othello

And that kind of love of more than one.
I declared by she, his arms to wide my mother.
For the sake of it, what is this poetry?
Is it fast secure or must I measure?
My name is it hence thus my name you know.
Tell your father naught below the moon.
You have knowledge, great it is.
Many you have known before this wall.
And there it is, no I am it,
known but to you at night the moon it was.
By this simple fact that you are nearly full.
It climbs the wall to her, I continue by your, my.
Heaven can not be my judge for your the sake of it.
So it seems your justice is,
and human feelings such as they are and they are not.
The edge of life,
when I'm found out you are my period when,
it is not thus meant to be.
But after it is not to long I wait and wait I can't.
But it is not the sun upon your breast that bursts.
Around your neck my Topaz hangs below.
When I am not and you are something where am I.

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Is It Poetry

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