The Rub

NaPoWriMo

Photo by Mark Fletcher-Brown on Unsplash

Sad and curious
when little men imply
but for gravity
and leaden feet,
they might fly,
soar the skies
with silken words,
florid phrases
and meaningless
babble,
but there
within this
lexicon of doubt,
the rub,
the bard might say,
will out.

To write, compose,
originate,
assemble words
that might,
with hope,
illuminate
the murky corners
circumstance might
stimulate,
the poets writhe,
fret and often,
discombobulate.
Their goal,
in this noble
endeavour,
is not to simply
decorate
but elucidate.