The Writer In Me Wants You To Know

I sense and feel mystique of its appeal In vibrant, verdant, blossoming spring, Splendorous prairies undulating breeze, Resplendent falling of autumnal leaves, Glacial winds bemoaning a frozen sigh, A cerulean terpsichore of ocean tides~ I sense and feel, yet can’t cage its wings. Purposeful, evocative, musings unwind When elixir of missives invigorates mind In tears of joy glittering mother’s eyes, Holding hand of father, an innocent smile, Hungry bawls tearing impoverished lands, Cheers echoing hopes of clapping hands, Grievous calls unleashed by fate unkind, An uneventful existence berating its grind. Though I pretend to reign world of words And impute resonance to songs of birds And conjure kisses from lovelorn woes And dare personifying feelings of stone, I struggle in thoughts to stage my show Striving to rhyme verses stubbornly prose Dawdling daydreams of poetic meadows Attributing forms to shapeless shadows Clueless of the exit from wordless throes. Ah! dear reader, the poet in you knows, Much alike an eagle boundless in freedom Flight of artistry I’m unable to control, Passions of its symphony, I do not own, Depth of its ocean shall remain unknown. August 12, 2021