Though time and life becomes a boor
and cajoling word a waste of time,
marking day and night I while away,
counting meter and making rhyme.
Then in the end, I write free verse.
Such grace! It seems almost a curse
to spill words forth in boundless flight.
As an endless sonata I write, I write.
I write to the steps of poetic grace.
In faith, I write, seeking that place.
When I arrive I know I am there,
un-tethered, liberated, floating free.
As Pegasus, ranging the universe,
proud once again that I am me.