Your Pen Strokes

Note: This is my first attempt at a sonnet; no idea if I have iambic pantameter down or not, might be one line or two where the syllable count is a little off; allcriticisms and suggestions are welcome. When I glimpse a tint of the ideal, It shimmers soft, glides smooth, lulls me, enchants Then leaves in haste, hits me with what's real So I lose my footing and cannot dance But shuffle, weighted down in listlessness My soul caged like a dark, ominous bird Void of life's vibrancy and wistfulness Focused on the cruel and the absurd But - the sight of your pen strokes on a page The warmth of your scalp beneath my hand Gives me a role upon this inane stage Arms me with purpose; I then understand To bask in rays of god-like perfection Is to save one's soul with such affection.