A white sky of paper dreams,

 drifting upon black ink reams.

Consonants, vowels and nouns abound

 as the muse of inept verse screams.

Captured am I, in this white paper sky

 floating haplessly between the sheets.

With my sword in hand, I struggle to write.

I joust with syntax

and fall to the actions of verbs in flight.

Alas, I conclude, tis all in vain

 as I thrust my sword into the stone

 and there it shall remain,

 at least for the Knight???

 J. Allen Wilson © 2003