Pieces

Too shallow are the pools of my talent
For me to dive and pluck a verse
Instead I crawl its bed in clouded sediment
And find weak lines I have to nurse!

Nothing but achievement could suffice
This burdensome hunger called ambition,
Praises come and must admit they’re nice
But these crumbs don't fill to satisfaction.

I hold a dream which frays with each gentle recollection,
Too close and too long I carried this picture,
Damaged by reality’s light and time’s eradication
I don’t know if this fantasy is in my nature…

From my reason’s grip my sanity leaves,
Falls to break and forms a different logic:
It harms the palms; tears of red it quietly grieves
Still I piece these shards in hope’s magic.