I live a life perplexed by a force so wry
A heinous muting wind that smarts my mind
I muse; am I a poet or damned fool to try?
He would arrest my hand as I write the lines
The seething cauldron tips and fills the mold
I roam the halls of all the poet gods
In search of the sublime and golden verse
The rooms of secrets holds many facades
I must extract the prize though he lurks
The seething cauldron tips and fills the mold
I have no choice at all my die is cast
To scribble verse is my certain kismet
To do so I recall a tortured past
The mocker follows to fulfill his threat
Nevertheless
The seething cauldron tips and fills the mold
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Author:
George (My real name) (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 20th, 2016 12:07
- Comment from author about the poem: I must make note that the form of this poem follows one of W.B. Yeats poems entitled Long-Legged Fly. His poem is one of my favorites.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 44
Offline)
Comments1
Wonderful...wonderful 🙂
Thank you so very much. I appreciate your kind words.
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