If I Decide To Write

Tonight I will not write of stars, nor moon, seeds of wisdom-- just mind flattering bloom-- Nor will I write of love-- neither here nor above; though our dearest sentimentality, the heart, too often foolishly enacts its own fatality; and if I decide to write (which I have not yet) it will not be the common dark vs light-- No, not this, low, literary-fruit will I harvest, arm and lather; pick high and low to gather-- likewise, I will divest of good angels vs evil counterparts-- my rules, my pen; therefore, for me, some spades can be clubs, and all pointed diamonds I declare are now well-rounded, suitable, hearts-- Nor will my Poetic-theme be of great, vast seas; nor smaller phrases of streams—the writer’s usual surge to roar that calms to a sleepy bore…. and certainly not will I write about depth of self esteem-- the shallow image of self often incapable of of deep, worthy gleam; though seldom do others see us mere puddles as we to ourselves are wrong to deem (though never approaching the great-self, alas, most of us will only let dream)-- so, tonight, self for me will rest... and if brought to theme it will only be for rhyme, my easy best; Oh! That Poetic Shopping-cart: shelves of prose! Aisles of mesmeric gleams! like Poe’s mystic schemes-- clouds feeding voraciously off headless peaks— those fantastical shoulders we desperate writers must climb if to find our lofty seeks-- all creative mind’s begging for such volcanic leaks— No! I will not pontificate on these, for the best programmers many do still believe are little more than Charlatans or geeks-- Nor as subject will I attempt the Divine; our soul’s hope to progress, as wine, to some vintage state--though, without tasting, when compared to life’s offered new... such abstaining, perhaps, not worth the spirit's residue-- Nor will I attempt metaphors yet more mysterious-- maybe, even delirious; though often told such intoxicating views, like the morning dews can be practical lifesaving for both greens and blues-- sadly, such pasture-valleys thoughtless men have turned to breathless, rat-infested alleys; No! Tonight should I decide to write I will write of other things… I will write...hum…. I will write… simply, Goodnight….