If I could write a poem that puts others to shame,
than I'd think it was only luck which was to blame.
If I could write a song that gave tears to every note,
I'd gladly sing my heart out giving substance to what I wrote.
Words come soft upon a well thought out refrain,
flowing on to paper putting ruin to confusions reign
but alas sweet words are but phonics to hear,
with duel values that whisper in an ear.
How can mere words explain the quirks of me
When the inner-child clings to all the history.
Like talking to an abstract stubborn brick wall,
How many memories must ram it before it'll finally fall?
Sweet sorrow flows from chaos inside my head,
But only some understand what has been said.
Very few take the time to read each and every phrase,
And gladly navigate my mind of labyrinths and maze.
But than again I know I can be rather judgmental,
For even an imperfect being can be temperamental.