Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

I live my life in moderation
so I can afford the extravagance 
of dawdling in dreams.

The price of creativity is idle time spent
longing for depth, 
with words in my hand
and though there's nothing crucial to say 
my tongue craves the nectar of new syllables.

A harlequin lexis of stimuli flirts
and lingual vibrations are silenced by sentience
provoking thoughts 
with kinetic spectrums of theories 
and visions that crowd and design
patchworks of rhapsodic vers libre 
  or rhyme, rhythm and rules.

These manicured notions 
are inky memorials erected 
between perception, life and dreams.

I am content 
to milk my senses for mottled shades of beauty, 
of thought, of empathy
to polish the currents of impression 
funneled to my fingertips.

I am content 
to hunt cadence and cacophony
and to bleed my spirit for the color of life

and yet,
I find that I 
am a feeble foundation for verse,

I can laugh only as much as the happiest soul, 
my anguish can dampen no more than an ocean
I can only toil a lifetime and I live, 
so my worst suffering has been outdone 
by those who’ve died.

It’s when I swallow the heart of the world 
and humanity converses with my minds eye that my words 
trickle to my fingers and find reason in the moment 
to be inspired,
to be conceived 
to become a lost and found memoir 
of dreams,
of passions, 
of darker hours and brighter days…

The excesses of life are so much more interesting 
than my clichéd existence.

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