5. he not i

he scratches his head so thoughtly

before the pen scratches the pad

every written word so costly

it could be the last line he's ever had

 

he carries the weight of new worlds in his imagination

if there's a smidge of imperfection, he'll lose gratification

and tear down cerebral landscapes to paint fresh visions

compulsive through his obsession, a need not a decision

 

he tries to match his siblings

who have achieved success and joy

through creativity in ripplings

of subtle waves since he was a boy

 

but manhood brings second guesses, followed by thirds and fourths

anxious for a capsizing or landing at peaceful shores

sporadic tides in panorama, no climax to this quest

if he can't accept the currents' flow, he'll never find his rest

 

he shaves off what was coated

then galleries what he carved

compliments make his ego bloated

yet silence leaves him starved

 

the bleeding hearts shed some tears and nearly converted cynics

sing praises of amazement, but he remains his worst critic

don't pedestal the poet, give him cheap distractions instead

he tries to purge what prisons him, get him out of his own head

 

he is much too embarrassed

in songs, he says he not i

so careful to be careless

on false images he got by

 

he opens up only in sections, fully aware of what appears

disguising strings behind illusions, the puppet and the puppeteer

lyrics that seduce and inspire, but the person is speechless

such sensitivity you've never seen, yet the writer is reachless

 

still he sails on wrinkled paper

clumped in piles in the trash

the sunken feelings that taper

will return stronger with a splash

 

he's rocked and racked by the surfacing of the tumultuous deep

if the ship arrives to the coast, he can finally get some sleep

through the crashing water, he views the house of rotating light

he has yet to bathe in the warmth, but at least it's now in sight