Before me please do not stare,
Upon the grand image before.
Once appears from my front door,
Now the blasphemy I bare.
How do I know?
Is this so abrupt to be,
A folly in guesses thought,
And pieces that time never bought.
Am I just so slanted not to see.
What do I do?
Staccato notes bare no fruit.
A long empty skipped beat,
Created of, but no feat.
One voice captive colored in mute.
Can it be true?
Thoughts wander, do I digress,
Giving room to syllables.
Away words, be suitable.
Verbal elation I do express.
Welcome home.