The Poet's Cloak (Poetry)

It is a weight too much sometimes to bear
this thickened tweed of words that chafes with age
flecked with dark and patched from constant wear
unshruggable it clings — a skin-tight cage.

I’ve layered it like some unconscious sheath
to keep reality’s cold drizzle out
protecting what lies vulnerable beneath
though not entirely proof to thorns of doubt.

Part camouflage, part armour — this long coat
has served its purpose for so many years
guarding every line I ever wrote
on how I felt — my hopes and foolish fears.

The poet’s cloak — his mantle’s close disguise
evolving from imagination’s sense
there’s little harm in weaving witty lies
for good effect and art’s sheer insolence.

Such a uniform hangs heavy — badged and stitched
and however wonderfully each verse is sewn
the mind is buttoned-in — I stay bewitched
by thought’s design — the patterns all my own.