Passion For Old-Fashioned

See how my style has come parrot-like to reflect
and echo the stilted old-fashioned lines of angelic
and divine poets, when you look at this in your own
time and marvel at the emptiness of a mind swayed
by so little parley, you shall realize I know not how to
break free once ensnared in the charms of an artist of
world-famous stature – though the enchantment will wear
off after a while if I do not feed my addiction to lovely poetry
and music in words singing in my ears

You need to scold to keep me quiet and go underground; well-
deserved would be the pain and hopefully facilitate the descent
to earth for my spirit is all unwilling and rebellious to return to the
nether places where no fantasy, melody or inner grandeur are allowed
to exist for fear of revealing the dream underneath – nay, ‘tis too much
I’m on the roll and there is nobody to roll unto, I am sorry you have to be
the reader of my eulogy on this long-livéd poet - I should strangle myself
to keep my tongue, and I cannot – since I could not delete my own folly
of admitting my passion for old-fashioned poetry

That marks the feeble-minded and sidelined idiot, I trust you will delete this
missive and send admonishment to remind me that my new, realistic life
does not leave room to swoon for the chimera of yesterday’s visions,
preferably I should die in this mental ecstasy to save the world and
me from overflowing emotion and stupidity – ah – I am as mad as
a hatter and it is all due to a wonderful person who posted poems
by Buonarroti; what antidote is there? I fear the pain of poetry
in the hands of evil people so I cannot administer the self-
flagellation of bad poetry with evil intent

That abounds on the Internet and everywhere else, I shall
bear my cross with the faith and power of a long-suffering
saint because the inner visions are sustaining my failing
eye-sight and sad loss of hearing while inner fires are
burning off the outward appearance of reality…