A Sparrow Into The Sun

"Apollo be my sole guide,

Most valued muse;

In your craft I confide,

This vessel – use".

Under the falling sunshine of this day,

This world of electrical lights and sirens – surrounds.

The concrete structures and movement of steel,

Numbs all the senses and the cognition – it confounds.

Diluting free formed expression and wordplay.

This Face in a Book, constant attempts to conceal.

My mind repeatedly will ask:

How much of what is now being perceived

(The mentally relayed data and information;

The sights, scents, sounds, and thoughts received)

Is anything more than a momentary mortal manifestation,

And what is the purpose of this fleeting task?

This is the great weight on my shoulder:

Since, beauty is in the eye of the beholder;

How is Venus poetically revealed,

If within another`s eye she is concealed?

At times it feels like the pen is staring into the sun;

Glaring, blaring, binding, and blinding its vision.

I`ve followed Athena and her invisible owls -

Through the cold dark of midnight,

With the many verbal and written prowls;

Yet, for all the intelligence and knowledge,

The essence of allure escapes all I write.

To your craft, my heart – I repeatedly pledge.

Committed to this labor of love,

Immersed in it every single day;

With not a care or concerns,

As time degrades this body away.

The soul is sent to the sun high above,

While the rising heat continuously burns;

Purifying every single imperfection,

In each inscribed altar`s erection.

Still, steady in this poetic toil.

The pen is my inky hoe,

With which I till the lined soil;

Though it is muddy, soaked,

Saturated in lonely woe.

My hearts throat is choked,

Strangled by the wires of despair;

Still these verses of fire are prepared,

Each ember word has been stoked.

To you Apollo, I`ve rendered another sacrifice.

More dues and homages are tendered,

Here on this page, in this technological age;

Where papers and screens rapidly splice.

My mind and heart, I`ve dismembered;

With meticulous calculations, no hate, no rage.

More alchemic calcinations, made by

Movements in versification;

Yet, another supplication,

Of poetic creation is sent to the sky.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker