A Poet's Pain
My words are often written,
To riddles and rhyme.
Many days misunderstood,
So much of the time.
If I'm to be clear, need I sacrifice
Some harmony, for just ol' plain?
Or do I need to be more thoughtful,
Connecting ideas along the chain?
That's where I tend to wrestle,
With these words all the time.
To the point of near fracture,
And it's nearly a crime.
As I bend and mold obscure meaning,
Around the rhetoric in place.
While I hope it somehow connects,
Making sense of time and space.
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