Budding Poet Poem by Franc Rodriguez

Perhaps to many my words of poetry seem much too ambiguous.
Although I must attest, that I do not attempt to be disingenuous.
Therefore my gist is never paltry but rather much propitious.
The pith of my poems can be found, in the toils of stanzas ingenious.
They are lost in the mystic nature of imagination and expression.
We indulge as poets to assent, to the notion of assertion.
A spirit induced and wiled, by the magnitude of its magnanimity.
Enthralled and enraptured, in search of eternal sagacity.
Intertwined and bewitched, within the esprit so interminable.
It is interspersed in the warbling voices so intangible.
In our poems, we bestow upon the reader enlightenment.
We do not seek to impose befuddlement, or do we twaddle in dénouement.
Quixotic and never ribald, we dandle those who are recalcitrant.
We have no need to be righteous, and our autocracy is not a penchant.
Perhaps to many my words of poetry seem too prosaic and maladroit.
Although I must attest, that I was once a budding poet.