My Life is a Haiku

My life is a haiku, syllabically finite
But endlessly filled with the small things
That collect in corners to become memories.

Letters in words are nuances of meaning
That spread before me like crunchy peanut butter
Hiding lumps of wisdom against the bread.

Mere sound is a metaphor
Except on Mondays....

And, though it may seem presumptuous
To offer up insight held in verse to an
Ambivalent world,

I am compelled.

As one bewitched, beguiled and blasted
By the power of the shape of things,
The sounds of colors
And the textures of noise,
I find myself
looking out the sides of my eyes,
For the gems....