I am but a meager man
a mere weaver of words.

My writing cloaks insidious intent
to hide from reality’s fearful eyes;
deceiving with facetious transgression.
My just reward for such sullied repute-
shades drawn tight lest my rueful deeds be known

I remain hidden from a cruel world
behind callus words of my own fancy.

Verbose ranting of cryptic escapades
I grease my fist to ram down your gullet,
withdrawing the emotion I desire.
Recherché locution; gossamer strands
of melodies to soothe your tattered soul

*While my own inner depths
Echo emptiness and raging solitude.

Descanting rhythm to shroud what I am
only fools believe the self-proclaimed bard;
for I will conceal what is pertinent.
Illuminating only the mundane
with flamboyancy of ordered disdain

I am exactly what I am; all I may ever be;
a reputed poet of ill repute-

just meager ol me.

©  S.Loeding
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