My poetry is gone so I must write some more
It’s stacked up and piled up right out the door
My pencil leads broken and dried is my pen
I don’t write poetry; it writes me, the end

I could never in delay stroke the starkest page
With anything swooning but sophomoric rage
Juxtaposition lights the fueled kaleidoscope  
Dipping through two streams and drawing some hope

Instead of tomorrow, where the sun hasn’t shone
I could be with you here where we share our's alone
We could vow most tender, our thoughts of wonder
And racing in time, two hearts crashing thunder

Tomorrow clouds peak and today will be then
My senses are sharp may they bleed from my pen
Sometimes in moments of such clarity sought,
A kiss from God’s lips from what poetry's taught

Candelabras are lit by a short-lived candle
The words for such hopes I never could handle
So slipstream into the thoughts I now often dip
By threads of the sun I take seat for my trip

Am I so wise that I’m evicted from life
Now slipping on pages that spill out my strife
Kaleidoscopes break and oft marvels reveal
Poetry thus writes me, so through it I feel