A Stanzaic Sky

A murder of poets flap feathered verse
in a stanzaic sky; cool blue-toned shrieks
of clouds that wrap language in disrepair,
adverse criticisms hatch distant looks
in minds tethered to herd mentality.

There's no room for the individual
in the delicate nest of pleasured peers
who can not see past their own arrangement,
realise power of another's spells;
syllable sonority, delicious
orthographic regions of space and time.

Dissatisfaction scrambles for escape,
solitudinous stutters inside peace,
and the winds of creativity soothe
interpretations that colour form,
ability transcends stimulation
as methodical enthusiasm
captures melodic rhythms of ideas.

Isolation's divisions laugh letters,
insanity's progression's encouraged,
society's brakes are precision cut,
poetry's the bane of my existence
as I quickly spiral down to the depths
of self-imagery and reckless social
snarls of virtue's cold exasperation.