Conception #1
In times so lost
There seems to be frost where I find
Myself wrestling with words in allegory
Or in a toss up of alliteration and iteration
I commit to persuasion
Viewing my literary skills as an arch
Of momentum prospering what adheres to me
And benefitting others that sing on occasion
To their own tune
Today I remark on pleasure as I embark on new territory
What measures me most is the way I impose
On my own laughter in between what stages
The next page.
It’s plausible
This series of undoubted strength with wisdom
ideally set in the reign of the wind
So how can I feel warm?
I ask myself
in warning of completing my fable
Is it not in the persuasion I offer myself
Contending in the next plot
Of words that conceive the page
So why do I battle with what rattles me the most?
Bring to me the completion of my arch
Hand me the truth behind how I march
It is not only in forming the new
But giving into the infinity of words
That seem to be giving the ring it’s tale.
Unfolding is the sentiment of what once was the mold of
An amateur, now seems to value itself
As matchless
Now my pen is hot and it’s patched with the sun