Another tribute to poems galore
You hold in your hands, your mouse clicks away,
Mysteries and moments, of failing more,
So many things I still have yet to say:
From my suicide to painting the sun,
Writing in distress or when my Muse shone,
Written in falseness, the pages are none,
Whilst now my story has been told by one;
Again, a sorry portrait of ages
Has been reflected, mirrored, distorted,
As I scrawled my way through all the phases,
To this place I’ve gratefully reported.
Now this sonnet has been sure rounded,
The stone of poems- part three- is founded.