(no subject)

[apiphile]

I've become too realistic for poetry
Fell out of love with falling in love;
It used to make me feel alive
But now I only feel guilty.

There's no "you" to turn my well-worded suffering to.

All this lyricism turned to heavy prose
A brief paen to the sunrise swallowed
To the same place all exultation goes
I don't want to share my joys and sighs
Secrets are the better for being forgotten
not kept.

Sleep only wears a hole in my resolve
And though I black out each dawn
It's been a year since I last wept;
Too many things to drink about
Too little time to unfurl in
Every nascent shoot of spoken word
Must be stifled like a changling child.

I am trying to build a city in this wilderness
And all my bricks are rotten
My secrets still are kept
But my system of speaking is forgotten;
grew out of growing verbose
Now all my pacing's morose
And the release no longer comes.

I traded a stable pair of feet
for my heart and tongue.