A first honest attempt at keeping syllabic tempo and a standardized rhyme scheme.



I reach the depths of my bag,
Desperate, can’t find my stone.
The one that makes everything
Seem like a wonderful dream,
Change night to day,
Light the black way.

Drag out last grain of dry dust,
Upside down I shake so much,
Come to my hand, precious want.
Missing your warmth, will you daunt?
I’m drying out.
Why dost thou haunt?

Your bright countenance does wait;
Can I compete with sublime?
May I receive splendid hand,
Fiddle, chasing unseen strand?
Made this rhyme eat
Comfortless street.

Stone has perished far from me
Consumed, bygone, departed.
Begging Street, can someone spare?
Possess I only thin air.
Can not you see,
Pull out my hair.

Seek happy ending elsewhere.
Adrift the stream violently,
Forfeit in time’s lost past.
Strayed as tattered one, outcast.
Closed aperture,
leave, no glamor.

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