A LOVELY POEM

Alas I found no solace, nor comfort in the libretto of this ode. Lost in the translation, a missing thought eludes apprehension. Oblivious of the exacting demands, it continues to elude my grasp. Vain was my ambition, to think I could create thus and embrace it. Elusive like the fox hounded by the pack, it can not be found. Left in its wake; a revolution of half-truths and propagandas. Yet still its formation seems so near at hand. Patterns start emerging, from a mist of poise and self-belief. Orchestrating my own demise I am, for surely none continue beyond perfection. Enlisting the bard’s gift, I place forth the hidden meanings. Momentous was the juncture where time stood still and a poem was created.