Musel

Issues In Communication

Tonight I had an inclination,
To put like words in combination,
To put them all now in relation,
This little thing of my creation.

So I've succumbed to fascination,
My pen proceeds to battle station,
My mind should act with inspiration,
To this semantic application.

On page it now has preservation,
Inside it gains appreciation,
When fears receive exoneration,
When thoughts in words provide elation.

This may put you into sedation,
You may not feel the same sensation,
But this is my infatuation,
With words in certain presentation.

They have no real implication,
And thus they hold no expectation,
But they lead one into contemplation,
A poem of sorts, an exploration.

Small verses with no elongation,
Can lead to quiet desperation,
But fear ye not the limitation,
Of this, my wordy incantation.

I write to relay information,
Without any consideration,
To a critic's choice of condemnation,
Of a poem that's built on no foundation.

Some say, "This is abomination",
"This work needs expert reparation".
But give it not your restoration.
For rhyme is poets’ respiration.

It merely is an explanation,
To ease poetic trepidation,
But lead you not into temptation,
To find some phoney imitation.

Enjoy this drawn out explanation,
A simple, curious observation,
And treat it not with indignation,
For lacking perfect punctuation.

This leaves me near the culmination,
A stream of thought, imagination,
Varied like some constellation,
United whilst in segregation.

And so ends this investigation,
While not without exasperation,
Has helped me in my navigation,
A rhyme the same for its duration.