Rights of Passage
by Michael Doyle

As just another poet by design
I would like to contest what's mine
You see, it's true that I'm not dead
But folks want to argue over words said

The count is not final in the least
Though some would provoke the beast
They're telling me what exactly was meant
As though my words were theirs, I lent

Partly yours is that what you say
As if that will ever indeed be the day
You can borrow whatever it is you want
But that hound dog doesn't hunt

Saying you know my mind better than I do
And even if that poem was about you
It is up to me to see and say what I see
As long as it is dressed up, in quiet dignity

I don't want it misrepresented in connection
Dazzling as it is in its verbal representation
None of what I've said is meant to confuse
The truth I trust is you've always been my muse

Partly yours is that what you say
As if that will ever indeed be the day
You can borrow whatever it is you want
But that hound dog doesn't hunt

Delicately laced in every sensibility
Your fingertips trace with sensuality
You are cunning in your hideaway tact
Fooling the world with your elegant act

Wishing to wake from your loving deception
Every move you make proves my exception
The rights of passage are like words read
In the make-believe world, you leave unsaid

Partly yours is that what you say
As if that will ever indeed be the day
You can borrow whatever it is you want
But that hound dog doesn't hunt

(c) November 15, 2024   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved