Fleeting are the notions,

Flirting while heavens open,

When the select few can see,

Beyond the realms of

you and me.

And as I cast my lot,

With plagiarized thoughts,

These chosen ones break free,

And feed feeble minds,

poetry.

Oh but for a shy glimpse,

Into depths one must sense,

Or reach their apogee,

To weave noble tales

with such ease.

I'd search the very depths,

Of my soul and from it wrest,

That which inhibits me,

And stops poet's heart

callously.

But till I learn the craft,

Which titans of prose have,

I will steadfastly be,

Where their shadow’s glow

shines on me.

There will be a season,

My rhymes will ring with reason,

The words I write will seed,

All the minds exposed,

graciously,

And in that hopeful day,

When my mighty words hold sway,

In such sublime glory,

When many will quote,

poems by me.

One holds to humble hope,

That ideals these verses sow,

Are fraught with wisdom seen,

And eternal truths