27 December 2013

Wither Goest Poet

My words fall silent,
hell bent on keeping my tongue.
Yet I belong to the world
of words and temperament,
never meant to be a face in the crowd.
I was meant to rhyme out loud,
proud of the fact that I can
extract emotion like a love potion.
Dripping with sincerity; with clarity
and vision - a mission of my own making.
And taking the time to read what others
ponder in the great rhymed yonder;
to lavish praise and honor to those
more deserving than I. At least I'll try.
Never perfected, a rhyme resurrected,
Lazarus walks amongst the living,
giving from his heart that which belongs
to his heart. It's a start.

(C) JPW - 2013

Written with apologies to all poets of all sites I had frequented. I will make a more concerted effort to visit as many of your sites as time allows. I know we all have our time constraints, hardships and misfortunes. I'm learning to reel in emotion and find balance.