aspirational

in awe to read a sonnet by the bard
beyond the tricks that one can imitate
to say something profound is still what's hard
the perfect meter can't lend brainfarts weight
for poetry to stand the test of time
to captivate a reader not yet born
unless you touch her heart, not merely rhyme
you'll be forgotten and deserve her scorn
compulsively, we try to find the words
to open between souls a perfect door
but they elude our pens like furtive birds
and what's most true's been better said before
a task for fools to open-hearted bleed
to darken pages none will ever read