what inspires a poet
to pen the things that we write
about hope long lost, a new love affair
or passion spent by the candles light
I read sonnets written by others
and I can see myself in their text
I can place myself in some lines
but I am not there in the next
the subjects that inspire me
always have a rhyme and a reason
and I hope to remain inspired
and pen on for many more seasons
I looked back and saw it,
anger gnawed it, I put out the cigarette I just lit.
Let go to see the depravity endorsed by me
Shattered pieces still reflect this carelessness
No bedtime story-story wakes you sweating scared
the visions spun left you unaware-this is your minds eye
But all the time? Punishing slumber with regretted recall
Watch the peacefulness cease for us , or I as it were....
Image blurred -so then occurred there may be hope just yet!
rearrange the view, if just these few were most upset
No never!! I know the end before it begins, tragic tale
There is no reprieve only flashes where it failed
punishing most is that lingering hope you hold fool-tightly
Mind is strong but not more so than the grief that consumes it.
In epic self-loathing
I let the phone ring, knowing
how you interpret silence
but hope for a psychic storm to send
respect from a thoughtless martyr across
30 miles of invisible space.
This contradiction believes
in hope but bears none;
thought doing right by you was
as simple as words (spoken,
perhaps, in haste but not insincerity)
when every step forward was
impulsive, marred by guilt
for a twice-lost picture of a life
I never really lived.
Flawed, perceptibly,
and unable to believe that
there is grace in weakness
when it stays my feet in time
as you move...
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