The Poet That Ran Out Of Rhyme
There’s a metaphor just beyond reaching
An intuitive je ne sais quoi
It’s a wave that was all set for beaching
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,
it’s a truth too hard to face
There’s a Stig that lost its stigma
you must willingly embrace.
We’re a forest too dense for the thinning
We are angels who’ve fallen from grace
We are planets incessantly spinning
We are humans that just lost the race.
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
A clock tower forgetting to chime
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 soul sacrificing redemption
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 grief stricken, lost in denial
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 still watching you walking away
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.