Through Mundane Clouds

To make a word mean something new, With some uniqueness - O what genius! These words are washed of all their color Black and white, lo, gray With boredom. So what’s left to write about, When words mean nothing more today Than they did one thousand yesterdays, Where lyrics sung like gentle sparrows Lifted on a feathered wing To heights I dare not envy - O such jealousy I carry! What utterance can be invented That will strike a brand new language in me? Woe, to have just one new word To write across the clearest sky… Mark, until it breaks through mundane clouds, I call upon a devil’s darn to sew my lips - Until righteous words rain down from heaven Where I shall taste sweet nectar of fresh letters Falling into gorgeous arrangements On crisp white sheets.