Why Bother

The clock chastises me, as painted petals bloom brilliance in illuminated wonder that attempts escape from the hidden crevices deep within my beleaguered mind. The beauty I seek is but an allusive dream, flowing rags of worthless chattel that fill me with words, heavy, like stone, my rhymes but pointless emotional prattle. Yet, still my need must pursue that dream to create another verse so sublime as to define me as me in a world filled with poetic doppelgangers and, so, I write just one more sad, lonely line. "Extant nectared incense she lit, burning inside, slow but alone, Arrogant me, let her leave, as here I sit, awaiting the unknown." Clever, perhaps, but are my words, like the melancholy song of the lonely Lune, beautiful? Geez, or should I say jeez, no Cuneiform here, shall I try once more... "crystalline sparkles achromatic winter jewels spring paints with colors" ...to bring out in me that which, through these many years of seeing my world ravaged with emotional upheaval, still, in its turn, allowing me to experience love and enchantment from eyes that held me in the warmest embrace. "I see the storm as rage engulfs those lovely eyes, the blue intrepid sea of passion's lost release. Inside, the tears of torment flow to sooth the lies, yet, pain remains in every moment's wish for peace. As burning anger seethes inside of you the path it seeks obscures your point of view, and leaves the ragged scars of bitter love left blurred like mist in sodden clouds above. Emotional, these moments steal your gentle heart and eat in to the darkened void that once was you, but misplaced hate can not keep you and I apart, when, with my shroud of love, your heart I will eschew. I hope you'll see just how I feel for you, for you are why I do these things I do." Crap! Total crap I read! and I chuckle as I re-read it. In a single sonnet, iambic hexameter and iambic pentameter, the Bard must be turning in his grave; I guess I'll have to try another day. 08/15/2018