Contemplation 1

I wish my words would sparkle bravely,
Bronze emblems blazened on a field of blue
or evening clouds underlit with citrus sun.

But I look up to see my phrases
hang swollen, charged with fire from fearsome skies
that glowers dark and explodes in darker thought.

Oh light that crowns the highest treetops
Sweep down to save me from this cavern speech!
and lead me blind by the hand to thy sweet source.

Aaaaaaaaaand–
                    Ripple.
Light and lost,
as though upon the water's face
A thousand mirrored deeds recall the one
–Plunk! that fell,
Itself the product of a breeze
(Such breezes sometimes ease the leaves
to loose their grip upon the trees–
those leaves then fall to prick the seas
or ponds)
without point or plan.

Silly me.
Afloat, adrift, a washed up drip
Dropping down to stir the pot
–and ignoring the recipe!

Oh, was there ever such a thing?