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The Mockery of Intent
And so! The vision bursts with welcome sight!
The paths in vast perfusion swirl with light,
And each sings of the fruits one might attain
From swift pursuit with bold and fevered brain
To pin the thoughts to paper. Though profuse,
And though there may be much to put to use,
I cannot run all traces to the ground,
So I set out by instinct, wits and sound
To write the course as rude skill may acquaint,
All fitted into rows with tight constraint!
Here sense is hobbled by a metric crime,
And this gold thought is blinkered by the rhyme.
So many murders merge into the draft
As art is rudely filtered by the craft.
Thus here it stands, for better or for ill;
I glimpsed a star, and uttered just a pill.
The paths in vast perfusion swirl with light,
And each sings of the fruits one might attain
From swift pursuit with bold and fevered brain
To pin the thoughts to paper. Though profuse,
And though there may be much to put to use,
I cannot run all traces to the ground,
So I set out by instinct, wits and sound
To write the course as rude skill may acquaint,
All fitted into rows with tight constraint!
Here sense is hobbled by a metric crime,
And this gold thought is blinkered by the rhyme.
So many murders merge into the draft
As art is rudely filtered by the craft.
Thus here it stands, for better or for ill;
I glimpsed a star, and uttered just a pill.
The rhymes are all clean, yet the rhythm gets wonky in places. Though the poem itself lampshades that, saying how the thoughts the poet wants to get on the page get mangled a bit by the constraints of fitting them into the poem's structure, which was a clever thing to do. I certainly have had this thought before, that any sort of structured poetry is difficult to write, since you're constantly fighting the structure to get the story told and do it without the language sounding too unnatural. This is kind of a poem for poets.