Creative Frustration
I set my words to perpetuating sound
Grabbing at scraps from the mother’s nest.
Seeking beyond my own dedication something deep.
I halted before the jury of them.
Seeking a mission to know my place.
I wrought only from the ruins of grace.
And empty literature into this place.
To quote a line here and write a poem there
In hopes I would snare a muse,
Ney deigning to appear.
I sought a way out from under my mind,
And the works, and glory they have me blind.
I cannot seek out that which I try to find,
Because, because my own words make me blind.
Blindness, blinding flash of light all fallen, fallen now.
I seek an opportunity, a note I write, to free the bird from the tower.
And open something new at first glance.
To bend poetry to whim and make artifice something less than a sin.
Grabbing at scraps from the mother’s nest.
Seeking beyond my own dedication something deep.
I halted before the jury of them.
Seeking a mission to know my place.
I wrought only from the ruins of grace.
And empty literature into this place.
To quote a line here and write a poem there
In hopes I would snare a muse,
Ney deigning to appear.
I sought a way out from under my mind,
And the works, and glory they have me blind.
I cannot seek out that which I try to find,
Because, because my own words make me blind.
Blindness, blinding flash of light all fallen, fallen now.
I seek an opportunity, a note I write, to free the bird from the tower.
And open something new at first glance.
To bend poetry to whim and make artifice something less than a sin.