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
It’s a sparse paradise these days
Feeling another season coming on
Not supposed to feel like this
At least that’s the way we’ve been drawn
She’s still the poor pretty rich girl
Never could get off the same page
Repeat struggles to survive
Tripping on my lines; a vapid stage
Reality is an emotion detached from my soul
You never needed everyone to love you
Instilled confidence to merely exist
Forethought is a luxury that might just be true
Transcripts of the past’s failures
We’ve learned, but not out of society’s grip
False starts & then some
Rising, but we’re still not quite hip
Taking time to exist in faded dreams
The errant thoughts of a noble mind
Our hands smoothing the stray lines
The margins left blank & us unrefined
Ripped pages scribbled with defaulted hope
We try to emerge from the harrowing sea
But what more can we write about love
The caution of trying to speak of what might be
I’m not your reluctant hero
I’m nothing along those lines
Don’t think so highly of a fool
With your lips crumbling into your wine
Please don’t raise me up to be much
I’m not what you see with your eyes
A figment of an imagination’s dream
I’m lost within these warm Florida skies
Captain Q 