I sought to write verses
Immersed in melancholy,
That unveil a quiet woe
Within the leaden lives we flee

I sought to write verses
Of souls stricken by malaise
Of idiopathic ire manifest
An insatiate,insentient craze

I sought to weave vividity
Into threads of nebulous thought,
To ease pain and suffering
Such poetic vagueness wrought.

I sought to indite ichor
With mortal mind and heart,
Only to soar in skies of ink,
Ever so far from the stars..

At morrow’s dawn I found,
A sleepless mind that bled
Words not birthed by muse
Cannot belong to a poet.

-The Forgers of Fantasy

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