CAMELOT FANTASIES

POETRY MIME

Thru pages and pages, of my mind.
Poetry is ov my mind, flowing from the ink in my quills.
With luv and romance, in hearts with hope to instill.
Visually I do enhance, with words to reveal.
Reading the words to myself, not wanting to take a chance.
In those moments of that glance, is the beauty of that time.
As I ramble thru my mind, visions again take their stance.
Lost for words, so many times.
Logically, I hope to find.
Problematic are my rhymes, words to cast.
Distant is the chimes, that filters thru my past.
Let me tally my time, ov haunting sonnets.
Ones creating fear, ov hunting words and visions that premiere.
Songs ov words, that becomes celestial views.
Fragments you define, what is on my mind.
Metaphorically a shift in time, stores what is true.
Words, that I cannot find.
Is senseless, to that place in time.
As the referee, these feelings to describe.
Will sometimes justify, problems that are contrive.
Selectively life will be, repetitive verses that we see.
Heraldry to the call, we all take a fall.