Your poetry's a passing phase.
Dumb dreaming on deluded days,
when you, (misguided by some muse,
who lies, and tells you, “you can’t lose”)
pour out your passion on the page,
unleash it from its gilded cage.
As if you were another Keats,
enthroned with rhyme’s elect elites.
But you've been duped, you naive child,
by beauty blinded and beguiled.
And when you wake one misty morn,
you’ll read your lines and sneer, then yawn.
Yes, poetry’s a passing phase,
a remnant of that youthful haze
that to your ageing heart still clings,
like songbird, that no longer sings.
Comments
Neopoet AI 5-29-23 version
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Deluded
Greetings!
I think we all feel this way off and on...and then something happens, and the magic is back. I know there is a strong desire to be recognized, but I think I'd still read and write poetry, even if I could only share it with one person, let alone all the lovers of Keats. I've read so much of your beautiful work. It's always left me encouraged, impressed, and inspired... you reveal such emotion and feeling in your pieces. As for this poem, the flow is wonderful and the rhyme is tight, your theme is relatable (and hopefully temporary), and the beginning and ending are nicely wrapped around the context. That final line...heartbreaking. Even your poetry about writing poor poetry is remarkable.
Thank you,
L
Deluded
Many thanks, L. Yeah, it's frustrating when you can't put into the right words all the crazy feelings pouring out of your restless soul. Thank you for your encouraging response, by the way. There's so much heartbreak in the world, and I feel helpless and hopeless at how to put this vale of tears into words of poetry. Again, many thanks for taking the time.
I'd say that...
your rhyme and pattern, rhythm are all perfect.
I read it aloud, [just to make sure that I wasn't missing something, you see...]
and I was taken by the lapels and shook by my muse, who soon flew off in disgust
shaking her head and mumbling to herself, [or maybe me]...
At any rate, very nicely done, with plain english, [but not archaic]
yet easily understood that the story is the purpose of the poem.
Well told. But keep singing, your voice is as good as it ever was. ~ Geezer.
.
Deluded
Many thanks, Geezer.