More often than in years passed
My well of wise words has turned dry,
As I toss the bucket in and slowly
Draw it up I expect nothing but hollow air,
Nothing but the dusty remains of
Something I once cherished,
A surplus of matter,
A stray comma and a full stop later
Behind a pile of abrupt line
Endings, I find a single No,
No โ this will not do,
Even a journeyman aught to carry
More in their wicker
Basket,
I'm all too mindful to find another
Well, another source of
Inspirational sorrow,
Too much time wasted in worry
Over duplicity and calls for petty
Plagiarism,
No longer a lurking man
Seldom tumbling in search of
The golden nuggets
To light my day or drown my night,
Lesser so I speak my mind
in matters of love, in matters of
Like
And their inevitable disconnect ...
My alter egos howl
Wanting attention I cannot provide,
The true self sits and
Ponder,
The thoughts wander
Between white ceilings and
The purpose of barren walls,
Turning deaf ears to all
A wax filled finger to every soul
That matters, to all that
Encroach, in truth to all
Still a-breathing
No โ this will not do,
Today I will rave
In twilight I will rage
Tonight I will escape and
Paint this weary town
Magnolia
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