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A Poet's Rant

Each page, A blank canvas
The pen, The linking brush
My hand and arm, The creators
My mind, The imaginative dreamer
The issue is the bringing about of a colorful picture
Due to my chosen art my stroking motions of pen mean nothing in poetry
The story and language of my broken thoughts
Are to converge and stick to make one solitary piece
The issue is they never stay constant or stick
Always changing by the hour of thought and emotion
The thoughts of an elusive rhyme scheme never fulfilled
So I’ll try to do the best I can with increasing practice
Practice in reading a Thesaurus perhaps?
Although for now I shall try to write elegant whimsical words
That the world seems to have forgotten n’less it is heard in a work of Shakespeare
Or in a Medieval movie
Similar to a conjured phrase such as,
My aforethought words drip from a scaly desert of a tongue of whose reading can be found in the unlockable cave known to that of this poet.
Despite its attractiveness to the eyes of a skimmer or wandering reader
Some may appreciate the sentimental phrase I made

poem by Ryan Collins
Added by Poetry Lover
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