Opuscule

It may mimic opuscule

When I create the page,

However nice it sounds

To pass for wit or sage.

 

Still, the poet pens away

Oblivious to the critic

Who may call it prolixity,

Wretched, or comedic.

 

The soul rises to express

A vision of carnal bliss.

What the heart desires,

The mind may only guess.

 

Not so much for posterity,

But pardon my secularity.

I bow to mild temerity

With a nod to sincerity.

Author's Note

Sometimes the pen seems to be on automatic pilot.

Reviews

[IWAZHERE]

Each stanza offers somethings new and it provokes a unique ideal.
The first lines of each stanza are especially eye catching and the final line ends the poem quite nicely.
It's an interesting poem. Thanks for posting.

[bigfootprint]

Thank you, IWAZ, pleasure exchanging reviews with you