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Wax Puddles

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Unfair is the word that I feel I owe
in regards of my heart's much sordid love.
For my eye's contentment has yet to show
since my heart's amusement has come undone.
I try as I may to find a new muse
but no moment that's come has seemed to fit.
My romance, my yearning! has yet been used-
no beauties so golden they must be writ.
Thoughtfully I quarrel my own contempt
for the emotions that make mine eyes blind.
I fight for a chance to become exempt
from the monsters that make me so confined.
And upon new love did I wish I soar!
but I fear new sights come near nevermore.



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