Poet's Lament

Oft you evoke in my in-most being

Hollowed indictments I cannot ignore

Passionate pleading; rushing receding

Oceans of wonder and pondering roar

Desire dances in sanguine circles

Duty remands with a stiff, solemn grip

Wanderlust whispers; temptation trickles

I need a pen between my fingertips

A-h-h-h-h…

Smooth satisfaction probes inspiration

Pulses quicken with anticipation

Muse, oh languid and luring impression

Teasing and taunting the fringe of my thought

Do you seek kinship or mournful confession?

I feel you but to touch you, I can not

Are you the shadow that ruffles the willow?

Are you the Shepherd of star-spangled deep?

Or do you burrow beneath my pillow

Murmuring to me as I fall asleep

A-h-h-h-h

You are a rebel tormenter of men

Provoking the poet without a pen

Oft you evoke intangible beauty

Caught in the lilt and the bend of the breeze

Oft, in the middle of modest duty

You kiss the moment with sweet memories

I cannot hate you, therefore I must love you

Feed on the hunger of what you withhold

Darling, I am so empty without you

Tease me; torment me until I am old

A-h-h-h,

Poet, poor poet; are you blessed or cursed?

Caught in the vortex of life’s best or worst?

© Janet Martin

Written for Poetry Jam; love-hate relationship