Compelled

Compelled David J Walker The sad part of this obsession is Knowing how unprofitable it will always be Language leanings in different directions Confessions of the soul count for nothing A mornings reflection in vivid description Serving only a fraction of lost and forgotten temptations The torments of love yet unexplained Colors unnamed Secrets never revealed Clouds proudly morphing into forms unformed And forms of deformed and fearful imaginings A sincere hope that the unknown is better than today The poet puts on the hat of a mad vatic and buries his face in his hands compelled to see the future