A Modern Wordsmith’s Dilemma
The wonder of our words has died –
So many are taboo.
My tongue and pen are now denied
The truth and beauty too.
My heart is swelling with a song
But twisted lyrics don’t belong
In all that’s fair and true.
Rhyme and rhythm have no soul
When iron fists are in control.
The music in my veins runs cold.
It’s sluggish and offbeat.
The notes are grim, not one is gold.
My tune is incomplete.
No sonnet soars to lilting spheres
When honest words offend the ears
Of those who overheat
At stanzas blazing with desire
Illumed with language kissed by fire.
My Muse contorts my misted mind
Where hazy visions dwell.
Today her words are ill-defined –
The best have bid farewell.
“It’s Venus!” I’ve just heard her shout.
I burn to let this goddess out
To cast her odic spell!
Alack, the women most revered
Are those who have a cock and beard.
When will it end, where will it go –
This lexis-hexing craze,
This pick-a-pronoun-hoedown show,
This crazy-making phase?
With happenstance, I yearn to dance,
