For I have never read a poem with such grace
Whose words caress every inch of my mouth
As I slowly roll each line over my tongue
While every phoneme beautifully distributed throughout
Creates a distinguishable awe of insight into others’ lives
And I sit and gasp in ecstasy as I eat my pierogies
Turning over the fabric of these works in my mind –
Elusively escaping from my memory in time.
Every fortnight I await their return –
These enticing specimens of wisdom and experience!
Yet although I realize there must be more to these stories
I abstain from discovering their secrets –
And the poet whose name is never revealed
Beckons to my curiosity as I lie awake at night in angst.
Who are these penetrating minds hiding behind the lines?
How do they know the exact words to use –
To lure me into their world of insight and verse?
Titillating temptation to join them overpowers my reluctance;
I long to exist side-by-side, line-by-line, with them –
Perhaps subconsciously wishing our stanzas will touch.
And I can endure the enlightenment and obscure awakening
Which has brought these men and women into a new world
Where Milton is lost and MacFlecknoe can reign,
And shrewd poets like me have much more to feign.