a novel? a page, a penny for a page!
and two more if I guard well the window of my soul.
alas I succumb to the numbing days,
a million shards of sunlight
jumbled upon my eyes 'til I cannot see.
oh to stand stouthearted against eonian tides
and throw off this parsimonious existence,
'mid the grinding seconds
miniscule in persecutions,
perfections their demand.
'tis a wild thing within me, there is no harness,
a muse of beauty so shy in all its proportions
it cannot stand the noise of day,
so jealous for my attention
it will not share the moment with any detractor.
thus I know not when or how or why,
going onward a stumble, a step, or two,
by achromatic visions until once again, unannounced,
an excimer shower of joy weeps through the clatter
and I hold a jewel begotten, wrapped in new light.