"What are you thinking about?"

My pensive nature thrives on spontaneity. My nobility, therefore, is easily sidetracked. Almost a limerick, though.

 

Looking into the kitchen again-

He thought of every single hungry child.

What he had wasted in his life so wild,

Tossed carelessly aside

Oftener than now and then.

 

Looking into the bedroom wistfully-

He wished for every new life,

Drawn from every sister, mother, and wife,

That they might lie

In arms again so passionately.

 

Looking into the den with remorse-

He hoped for every sad smile,

Those drawing of the lips erstwhile

Words and feelings

Matched no honest discourse.

 

And as his ponderances did further consume,

His eyes drifted distant as his thoughts.

And coming swift to foil noble plots,

Was his lover,

Stealing nobility’s limelight, out from the anticlimactic bathroom.

 

Author's Note

Does it count as noble thought if you ignore the context? :) How seriously should a poet take him/her self?