Almost
As the juices pound against the confines; of that which is he
Neither escape nor point of release is apparent; there are only but small trickles.
And it sits inside the confines of the illusions; amongst the too, too many.
Expression is restricted to hopeful displays of intellect; often construed only as clever.
Through a window of opportunity comes; a small flow of outpouring;
Written word formed in rhyme; abstract stories provoking ones mind;
Mere overflow of expression; the matter recovered from a skimming.
And the depths of creativity remain untapped; as opportunity slips by.
Plucking at the strings of melody even then; only potentiality emerges;
And the curse of meritocracy ever pollutes; as hope fades into acceptance.
Needles pierce the hand; much like nails; and life crescendos to its climax.
Soon gone and yes soon forgotten; color it pale; so as to demonstrate the bright
Copyright © Leonard Taormina | Year Posted 2008
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment