A poem cannot be written
when thoughts are of disarray,
and the focal point is a loss.
While the rhythm is drowned
under bridges, and refrains
repeat and singing is even left
in thoughts loosely transcribed
only in the presence of the writer's muse
.Some would even say the subject
Has made this mind digress
To write behind words,
defensive to revel in revealing
this inspiration:
Stanzas are left disconnected in corner
sand couplets are left without emphasis,
affected by the coolness of autumnas folded loose leaf papers cover the floor.
The personification is no longer objective
and metaphors have changed to similes.
Ironies have begun to take hold
and the soliloquy remains to take it's stage.
This writer has written this before
it's all too familiar, close, even the same.
The pen has touched this paper
to continue these words is up to you.