Moonlight

I don’t know why I’m scribbling to you.

It isn’t something that I choose to do.

My little poems write themselves that way

just as surely as night follows day. Hmm....

Although that last line wasn’t one I chose

(its awkward metre far more fit for prose),

it nonetheless conveys the basic fact

that though I’m rich in passion, poor in tact,

and my absurd declamatory style

will likely raise your hackles, not a smile,

I’m hopelessly dependent on my muse

so if you kick me, first step in my shoes.

At second glance, the metaphor’s not right

for though my darkness does follow your light,

what’s going on is not so black and white...