Writing sonnets for my beloved
But I cannot speak in pentameters
The lines & sentiment lost on my tongue
Erasing the stray marks upon the parameters
Mother Nature is exhausted
Discovering it’s time to hibernate
Humble beauty of the landscape
Folding into herself unto the infinite
Hearing the last strains of Autumn
But the air is still hot
Clinging to a customary belief
While we hide behind a fig leaf
But we all know leaves fall and rot
Waking up to deliberations
An itching need to create
Warming myself with coffee
Unfolding thoughts I contemplate
Perhaps I’m a bit more prudish
Than I ever expected myself to be
Shying away from their exhibitions
Folding my soul back into propriety
Maybe I’m not as cool as you thought
I’m more of a meandering old fellow
Writing out lines of cautious fantasy
Whereas reality reveals itself to be rather mellow
Perfect tags & titles
Simple little names
Fitting nicely into a box
You should be ashamed
How long did we fight
For the people to be free
You fold under pressure
Not the way it’s supposed to be
You have all your beautiful decorations
Your Louis bag & Burberry coat
Flaunting everything which couldn’t be
Knowing how to get my bloody throat
You’ll find your adornments gone someday
They’ll suddenly be missing as you wake
Feeling distraught with nothing left
You’ll be lonely without any Real Estate
You’ll have no glamour & no identity
Find a need to fold back within yourself
No one will care, so no reason to hide
You’ll no longer be living on the top shelf
Downcast eyes revealing all exposed lies
Once the object of unparalleled lust
Age without refinement turns ugly
Life’s not so pretty, fallen from the upper crust
Captain Q 