A Poet’s Rhapsody, and a Fool’s Paradise

It dawns on me from time to time that, although the poetry comes most oft from a discontented heart, its exposition rings the familiar bell with most readers and it’s all the well to commiserate together; the written, and the reader.

This poetry comes from the most generous of places down deep in my soul, and although the frequency of the discontented heart produces oft more, I find the contented poet in fullness of happiness and care, as the content heart as well produces words, so much more sublime, and still,

From time to time I find myself caught up in the rhapsody of the moment, where I see her, and she is looking back at me. In this moment I am very aware of her every intention, and the words flow from my soul as smooth as a mountain drive; as carefree as a walk on a ceremonial island.

Time, and time’s abuse inflicted upon us, is truly a double edged sword. Cutting both between the yearning for a cuddled moment nuzzled in my neck, with media filling our moment and eyes, without touch, torturing the fondness of absence captured in a memory, and yet, here it comes,

Swinging back upon me, cutting yet again at the very foundations of love, which fosters doubt to burn my belief in a fool’s paradise.