“Will this do?” I asked
“For what?” she replied.
You said you wanted a poem in this post.”
“Go on then,” she said.
“Well it’s more of a song, really,” I said. “Though I could give you a deep sophisticated poem instead if you like.”
She looked exasperatedly at me. “Just get on with it will you?” She said.
I think that’s really irritable. But here it is anyway.
The Poet That Ran Out Of Rhyme
There’s a metaphor just beyond reaching
An intuitive je ne sais quoi
that dispersed in a dearth of sangfroid.
It’s a mirror that gives no reflection
Like a clock’s hands too tired to turn
It’s a teacher that gives no correction
It’s our passion too frozen to burn
There’s an elegant enigma,
you must willingly embrace.
We’re a forest too dense for the thinning
We are angels who’ve fallen from grace
I’m the hare that you froze in your headlamps
By the words that should not have been spoke
I’m a counsellor trapped in your Transference.
I’m the lover whose heart that you broke.
I cannot fit your convention
I’m the slave you cannot sell
I could yet be your redemption
If you have the will to tell.
I’m a bow poising over a fiddle
An immortal who’s frozen in time
I’m a story that stopped in the middle
I’m cynic become a believer
I’m an actor awaiting your cue
I’m a giver become a receiver
Still impaled on the passion of you.
Please accept my intervention,
it is born of good intent
You could yet be my redemption
Will you give me your consent?
I’m a straight line refusing to bend
For the sake of fulfilling convention
I’m a fable refusing to end.
I’m a hero that ran out of causes
A corner with nowhere to turn
I’m a sentence with too many clauses
A Nero with nothing to burn.
Won’t you free me from the Stigma
As the slave you will not free
You cannot be my redeemer
It is time you let me be
We are liars who ran out of lies
We’re like criminals facing our trial
We are seers who blinded our eyes.
Did we share nothing more than our passion?
Did we just burn too bright for too long?
Tell me, why we discarded our compassion
Tell me, where in the world I belong.
I’m an elegant enigma,
I’m a truth too hard to face
I’m stigmata still bleeding with stigma
It is time that we embraced.
I’m a Sharman of deep comprehension
Tell me why I can’t force you to stay
Though I rave against time’s interventions
I’m a Soothsayer tired of lying
But this is my ultimate crime:
I’m a warrior frightened of dying
I’m the poet that ran out of rhyme.