Am I so shackled here in dated rhyme,
Fair bound and trussed, by stately custom ruled,
Envying those who are tradition blind,
Pure pleasure bound and by crass chaos schooled?
Oh but the freedom of a pen unbound,
To craft quaint images in cursive stream,
Concocting scenes which by collage confound
Like baffling oddments of a drug fueled dream.
Yet what is thought unguided by a plan
If not the musings of some arcane soul,
Where mindless metaphors unending span
Depicting emperors bereft of clothes?
I follow proud convention but to prove
Fidelity to all I know and love.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.