A modest try

Upon opening my  book of rhymes i am

puzzled by new revelations

is the process best described as wordsmithing

or excruciating surgery on the mental plane? sundry times i have

found

that the jargon flows pleasantly enough when inspiration penetrates the heart

and liquifies the calcinated, redundant thought-trains

which rush to and fro or

fixate on points in time and space it could be

compared to being at the dance when you spy that beauty which

appears in flashes of lightning and a

newborn's smile

she is alone in her interlocking, gyroscoping, absolute

splendor as you look across eons and see

her

by herself manifesting the gods' mumblings and their effortless

perfection

all

in dance

then you speak to your heart i would like to join that

aesthetic pleasure as i see

it displayed amidst the commoners here i too would love to

flow as my soul dictates

and throws my physicality into tremors of ectasy
as the crowd gathers

and cheers and jeers as i lose myself
and glimpse the
higher
goal
as i become it all with aid
of the beauty
i was once apprehensive of circumscribing
with my latin-derived chatter

as i hope and pray that you can see her

as i have felt her
as i hope
to
live
her