Worms

I often leave words scattered in front and behind, judged too simple, without phrasing profound, I choose and discard like soured grapes picked too late or too soon, from each story, prose, or improvised rhyme. Bid me write the truth in a puzzle, to confound a scholar’s mind. Yet verse in a sing-song, to entertain an artist’s time. The difficulty here is prosaic nay profound to satisfy all Titillations Seeking rhythm and sound, blended luxury, and form; With images giving and receiving. All ages concur on the moras conversation. These truths of giving and receiving approbation. Forthright, attainable, to reach the youngest child, A secret insight may present a hidden challenge for older minds. Obscuring the purpose, to hungry minds With missing words wriggling away on the floor? I grow weary of having to justify, wormy weapons of choice, I am weary of seeking acceptance To truth I believe, worms collected Validation of colors I’ve chosen from this artist’s palette of words. I hope for a message to touch truth to a soul, Ignoring words scattered beneath and behind. Still hoping from those selected — some truth may arrive. Regretful that wisdom and winsome so easily collide Fickle words to entertain seem to abide. I seek affirmation like a child. So, what I may choose, “Mightier the pen than the sword?” But the power of the palette, of words Pouring out from the pierced, bleeding heart Still evades me… So sure, am I, that I’m unwilling to bleed, let alone die, that still; I leave consecrated words beneath and behind. Mary Kate Marozas March 21, 2019