the lost man chronicles
the daily chronicle

if i had a gift

Is poetry a gift? I ponder this
as I sift through years of odds and ends
and imaginary friends
that continue to accompany me.

And I intend to continually wander
about this maze of a mind you see
trying to find
a better answer
then one confined to reason.

Perhaps, it is merely a measure of sanity?
The less there is the more willing the risk?

Or perhaps just a bad case of ennui?
Quirks and quips and other mental tricks
simply drawn out to entertain.

Vanity? Granted my ego is a bit inflated.
In fact, it is closely related
to Sir Delusional Grandeur,
Mr. Prime-Time Fantasy.

How about, “I find the accused guilty
as charged with electric eccentricity”?
Sentenced to a life of droll prattle,
an epistolary battle with the devil and his silver tongue
as well as a bout with deranged optimism,
so that I see everything through a prism
not fit for mortal man.

Genius? A moniker not for me
so that I may continue to think on my own
and not have to prove that I have shown
any semblance of superiority.
Because quite frankly
I prefer to be clever than smart
and would take wit over any intellishit,
as long as I can substitute a moment of brilliance
With a punctual fart! (rrrrip—oh, excuse me)

And in the (rear) end
I must defend
my definition of a gift—
It is something to be given, not granted.
Thus, if
I am blessed to have any such thing
It is for me to bring
and share with you.

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