The Absence of Wavelength

In Truth...A Sonnet

In Truth: Your Beauty

I'll write you sonnets if your eyes will see.
In beauty's hollow, words seem oft restrained,
Unstructured toil, aimless, fails true glee,
As meaning's essence cannot be explained.

I'd run amok in fields of words with glee,
Harvesting life's treasures, small and grand —
Untidy dreams fall through my pockets free,
Ceremonious, placed within your hand.

Green-legged blooms in your tall glass are shoved.
In well-sprung water, words commit my love.
As heart-dedicated bouquets reveal,
No better words will capture what I feel.

In pure truth's essence, words may not suffice,
But through this verse, a soul now pleads your voice.

---

5.22.24
14 lines, sonnet

Took soul of a failed poem and made it the engine of a sonnet, in renewal.

Nod to Keats’ visions, with a bit Shakespeare.

Don’t read past…
here//////////
--- prison door ---
//////////Inside asylum

Either way…or both!

Eloquently, I try to make you see.
In dreams we’ve met, loved so perfectly.

1st draft ▼

In Truth: Your Beauty

I'll write you sonnets if your eyes witness.
In beauty’s hollow, words can seem restrained,
Unstructured, toil aimless, fail truest bliss,
As meaning's essence cannot be explained.

I’d run amok a field of words with glee,
Harvesting life's treasures small and grand —
Untidy, dreams falling out pockets loose free,
Ceremonious, I place in your hand.

Green-legged in your tall glass, blooms are shoved.
In well-sprung water, words commit my love.
As heart-dedicated bouquets reveal,
No better words found capture what I feel.

In pure truth essence, words might not suffice,
But through this verse, a soul now pleads your voice.

{size}Alternate Ending They Film But Never Use ~
(except director’s cut as additional footage, for truth sake. This is the commentary:)

{size}:I am about to puke my contents out
Of love, I love. In life I am without.

Pessimist/Realist? Why define the difference?

iamb iamb iambic ~ still it comes...

The summer burned our skin just like a torch
Passions raged in shade of mother’s porch
Smolder-steamed beneath the waterfall.
Limbs entwined on grass with bodies sprawled.

You know…you were there…

A picnic set on grass would go to waste.
Inside two mouths, sweet tongues spice-savored a taste.

Our clothes came off…remember?

Etc. etc. tired now ▼

Time ran out upon the pentameter
Without a coin I could no longer feed her.

Or…meter/met her?
With/without iambic??

O.C.D.A.D.H.D.
autistically
Find my off switch
before they kill me!

Iamb the sonnet maker!
(English murderer)
The lyrical playwright
(Maybe off Broadway)
penning all day into night
Na-na-na-nah, na-na-no, nuh-uh
What have I even got right?
Ini Kamoze
Side stepping this one
Time to doze-y?

There, it finally devolved. Out of my system.
Now what? *looksaround*