A healthy dose of poetical prose

sprinkled like rose petals on silken sheets,

pulls the eye across elliptical rows

to that place where language and story meets.

Should your own voice seek that lyrical style

that frames beauty wherever you want it;

with candle lit, you may sit and beguiled

by the master of both script and sonnet.

There awaits a teacher with lessons nigh

brooding silent on literature’s shelf;

craving the twinkle in a lover’s eye;

to guide you through your inspection of self.

So, hark! Ye scribes whose musings will not fly,

read Shakespeare and learn to lift them on high!

to be or not to be?

it all depends

(like most things).

to be crazy,

or to not

be crazy?

to be in love,

or to not be

in love?

so.

do not settle.

do not answer.

instead ask,

"what context?"

To be in love is such a complicated, convoluted fantasy of emotions

That seem to range from person to person

Yet there is none who chooses not to be

...in love

To be.....

in love is a tangled web of deception and fabrication, erroneous dependency on another

Yet there is none who chooses not to be

...in love

To be...

in love is an erosion of future expectations

dangling hopes and ambitions

Yet we jump in, fall, show a predilection for

...love

To be or not to be is the question

Choosing love regardless of the heartache is what we choose to be

We choose not to be a world cloaked in isolation.

Oh, my darling, my heart sings not love song

Your glistening eyes are darkened in glow

Songs change not outcomes, which I fondly long

From a heart where only wilted roses grow.

I shall live with what is my fate has restored

Your heart is barren to grow any seed

Forever sing not songs for I adored

I leave not blindly this weak heart to bleed.

Agonizing pain paid such dearly price

I’m loved yet not in symmetry order

This heart stranded not a wishful surprise

I’m forevermore refrained on border.

If this’s love ballads, shall you find unread,

Pity, not I seek, for the tears I shed.

MidnightInk (11/7/2017)