The accidental ode

I wanted to say something poignant.

I wanted to explain in vivid detail, in writers mode;
the sunset
the sky light
the earth
the green grass
the seasonal trees
the non existent streams
of the fanatsic meadow that exists in my head.

I wanted to capture the winter season
the shape and scope of a cold and odd snowfalke,
summer in its step
to spring
into autumn
and fall
into words sublime,
superb fiction
and roll of the tongue valedictions.

I wanted the ink that blotches on this paper
to represnt time and embody the suffering
that a drop of water
can contain
and in the same vein
capture tradegy and romantacise death.

I wanted to state how wonderful it is to be alive
using colours and hidden narratives,
to start and finish with intensity
in a true artists' style,
to state things subtely
but convincingly
beguile.

I wanted to ignite passion and sing
in flights
of fancy
and end up dancing on the page.

I wanted to...when I first sat in this chair
and raised my pen with dignified air
to be able to
invent words that had never been said or heard
for I found my art inadequate to convey or proclaim
what is the hearts domain.

I wantd to be better than before
to assume the power of a higher life form
and describe
without demonition,
your beauty, charm and grace
or the engraved-in-my-palms features of your face
the way you laugh too loudly,
how overly excited you get...

Your smile.

Your strength.

How you make my world shine
just for being
in it.

I wanted to say something poignant
and here I sit
unable to begin it.