The Bard to the Ballad or Sky Full of Thorns

 

It's hard to form 'The Poem' 

exactly like we feel it,

isn't it?

But, if each and every one is mustered

 (if not mastered), 

all for the glory of God,

then each one is perfectly worth it, 

imperfections included.

Sometimes I crave your consent without scavenging the sky 

But still, you remain distant, like the shadow of a sigh 

And I must satisfy myself with hints of what might be 

While learning the allure and anguish of you, Poetry 

How is it that delight and angst are so closely aligned 

A tango of persistence and fulfillment intertwined 

Where the hunter and hunted flit between the head and heart 

Like flickers of a candle or precision of a dart 

The world is full of whispers taunting, haunting acumen 

I want to snare you like the pearl of raindrops, in a pen 

To spill into ink-flowers that will bloom from age to age 

And flourish in a garden, yellow and brittle with page 

Sometimes I wish that you would yield your mist and mirage ways 

And humour Poet’s hunger with the perfect twist of phrase 

But Poetry, it seems to me, you give your head a toss 

And prompt me to remember who, between us two, is boss 

Oh, what a love-and-hate-routine is this syllabic chase 

Like pictures on a phantom screen that I can almost trace 

You drive me wild with glints of what a Masterpiece would be 

If I were more than just a child of verses, Poetry 

You taunt me with an essence that methinks is kin to love 

And I can almost touch you, but am not quite tall enough 

So, I must satisfy myself with top-shelf tippy-toes 

And bear the prick of thorns while reaching, reaching for the rose 

© Janet Martin