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Poem

ado the realms that I have plunged with phrase
          they have no shape - no bound'ries or expanse
               some wend in heaven's dreams or hell's malaise
     thoughts sown a demon's kiss or angel's dance ...

such myst'ries there are born from matter, gray
          those maelstroms wend the mind's complexities
               what seems dark and chaotic through its sway
     works fierce to find the beauty each eye sees ...

while wordsmiths tend to stretch upon the rack
          of flow'ry phrase, for sake of bloom and breaths
               there's far more dire concern with candor's lack
     than all the horror wrought ten thousand deaths ...

please don't misunderstand these words of mine
          true eloquence is birthed through grain OR chaff
               with thoughts that bare the soul in grand design
     and swell dear hearts that break on their behalf ...

pray, deign to think me common, though I was
          dear love's sweet fool, a million times too much
               and though I'd trade my loves for verse's cause
     the dearest poem can't trump ... a woman's touch.

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