Ink, somnolence, ocean, time, rhythm, rhyme...
These are some of the words that stifle my voice in trying to describe what I've yet to elate.
Only a fool dare contemplate an ocean before he drowns of its obviousness.
only a poet cold hope to unlock the mystery of death to spare his breath,
where at last gasp his pent up penchant for lyric timing breaks free from pentameters grips
and slips and fits to mar the page where bards become shards in fits of rage at the realization that even the greats left misspellings and misquotes in-situe woven deeply into their wisdom's foolishness.
Parry the phrase that labels us hacks and beat down the moment it lacks
the naysayers always say nay at what they fail to comprehend, in the humblest beginnings of the end.
These are some of the words that stifle my voice in trying to describe what I've yet to elate.
Only a fool dare contemplate an ocean before he drowns of its obviousness.
only a poet cold hope to unlock the mystery of death to spare his breath,
where at last gasp his pent up penchant for lyric timing breaks free from pentameters grips
and slips and fits to mar the page where bards become shards in fits of rage at the realization that even the greats left misspellings and misquotes in-situe woven deeply into their wisdom's foolishness.
Parry the phrase that labels us hacks and beat down the moment it lacks
the naysayers always say nay at what they fail to comprehend, in the humblest beginnings of the end.
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