sonnet 59

'twas once this meter reconciled my soul
with number demons--i could not survive
for days on end without filling its mold
with words i penned sitting in period five.
those days are gone, and now my pen lies still
for weeks or months without poetic pause.
i lack the time, the energy, the will,
but most of all, i lack a worthy cause.
i've friends, i've classes, livelihood, and dreams;
i've passion, and although sometimes i wish
it might result in other than it seems,
i'm calm: my pen remains unmoved. hear this:
despite your love, your hate, your spirit's flame,
plain Desperation is my muse's name.
--1/13/2008