I am off poetry for now.
The phrases filling up my head
are tired, overworked, and dead.
"The sun, the moon, thy face" - how trite!
No, I am in no mood to write.
I am off poetry for now.
My muse is out of character;
its focus is on only her;
my normal angst is out of place
when fireworks outline her face.
I am off poetry for now,
for how could anyone not hate
this loving nothing I create
with vapid whimsy; "empty" verse
has never sounded so perverse!
I am off poetry for now -
but wait, she calls me back again
away from my poetic den
to springtime, fresh and clear and free,
where nothing counts but she and me.
I am off, poetry, for now.
|
