Is there really much left to say
about a contrast in grey
with so many different shades
sharpening all of these blades

Penning here line by line
in search of some sign
an omen to be read
or perhaps ignored instead

For it leaves me unimpressed
by each confession confessed
every lie I ever told
exaggerations now resold

As I hope for any clue
about why the sky is blue
why the days diminish
before I have a chance to finish

When my thoughts are contiguous
in a world forever so ambiguous
never making thing clear
now that the last lines is here

Tell me what hides here inside
a truer verity still denied
all these feelings and thoughts
well beyond mere shoulds and oughts

For I am always on this quest
facing every challenge and test
to dig down deep within
to find every virtue and sin

Lay them all out in a row
so that I might come to know
what I am now meant to learn
what salvation I might then earn

This stigmata of spilt ink
proof I am on the brink
of revealing all that I dare
within each poem I do share

As I again take on the night
fully prepared to recite
embrace this blatant patency
manifesting all of this latency

I want to feel each sweet word
the tickle when it is heard
the sting when it then fades
a cut from far too many blades

Or so it does always seem
when I dare to care to dream
let my thoughts just scatter
write as though it does matter

What I once more now say
play the roles in this sad play
that I penned for my very self
old stale poetry from the shelf

This lone anthem from my life
dipped in both joy and strife
meant for me to again feel
how each moment was real

Spilt in a fluorescent ink
yet disappearing in a blink
feeling this true poetajazz
all the magic that it still has