To what conditions must I comply
when prompted to write
of what dwells inside?
'Tis always my voice I aim to speak
with pen in hand, bleeding ink,
as does my heart, spilling words
upon a page, perhaps unheard
save by me, myself, and I -
Eclectic fragments in the mind -
to each his own for these are mine;
thereby forming how they will
in fluid flight with feathered quill,
as freedom flows with expression
of fantasy or pure confession.
Symbolic makings of the soul
take shape as musical rhymes unfold.
Whilst not perfected or contrived,
'tis how this poem became alive;
for thus am I, in each rendition,
still my own poetic condition.
Though others may fuel
a new thought or two,
to who I am, I shall remain true!