Frequently and I say frequently,
I look for words that try to fit in phase,
With lines of letters that miss a point,
In no fault of their own but their author’s,
Who sought more than he could give.
In this state I frequently write,
Frequently and I rewrite once more,
On a pathetic path that makes no sense,
As I write for personal glory,
Forgetting the purpose of art ever more.
A wave I seek not but find myself on,
Frequently and all too frequently,
With a baseline that asks only for honesty,
From me, the author, in my fatality,
Framing Art’s Finale forevermore.