Shreds: “A Rare Beast”

Like ripples on coffee, I turn in vain,
Philosophizing idly on the mundane,
‘Tween my old leather-bound tome
And walls o’ paper and synthetic foam.
A flame alone ne’er makes a fire,
Nor does a deluge birth a lake entire.
At times, I feel a caged-up mouse,
Dreaming to be a rare beast espied,
Yet in a cage I might still abide,
With illusions of being something more,
Like my verses, those lacking a core,
For there, mayhap, is naught to explain.
Even the boughs do fall this month,
Which I spend ‘twixt bars of golds;
The key lies hidden in the folds,
Of pages and rhymes, the same ol’ show.