Dear Mr. Coleridge.....
Forgive me, Samuel,
but despite how much power
your magical masterpiece
your stunningly beautiful mesmerizing
poetical escape from reality has
within its unworldly lines
it still does not
and how much I sadly wish it did have
enough portal strength
to have allowed my souls desire
to gain access
to its mystically clouded location
that your laudanum powered quill
tells us of.
Yes, forgive me, Sam
but your words are not strong enough
to light the way
to that icy domain
they go on I am very sorry to point out
continuing to be unable
to show my hungering-for-Xanadu spirit
from believing that although it can feel
the pleasuring atmosphere
within your envisaged floating dome, still
the transition eludes.
Will this unstoppable dream
ever come to fruition and quench my thirsting mind
will I ever taste that beloved honeydew
or be blessed enough
to partake of the paradisal milk
intoxicatedly smell those incense-bearing trees
or hold a female Abyssinian hand?
Oh! such is the pity
such does Kublas absence
from my wishfulness
sadly, fictionally prevail.
Must I go on
not having those circles woven about me
those circles wrapping their giftednesses granted
for all time?
or will I go on
treading the paths of time
until you and I share heavens version
of your self sacrificed, ecstatic
golden worded donation to the world?