X-Y = Dialogue 2

Y
Tepid and little uncertain
abrupt, playful and terse
unwilling to move further
this submissive verse.
And now that poetry gets
mechanical in all rhyme
why should I suppress?
what is not sublime, mine.

X
This verse culminates
knowledge illuminates
the darkest recesses
something suppresses.
I search for anger, sadness or hope
really, any sign of life
some days are just polite

Y
Inundated, sedated
melancholia invades
vexes, expresses
the gloom pervades.
Now I sit back and
give this another try
metaphorical, still
an unsuitable reply.

X
The gloom pervades
yet hope permeates
the dissidence of logic
the diligence of faith.
They shall never be apart
caught in between life, when
shadows cast lights
first love last rites.

Y
Palpable gloom aside
this happiness I evade
and minutes wasted
explaining what I once said.
Because sometimes this
imagination makes tinge
as funny thoughts reside
of a hope that does cringe.

X
Hope is incessant
so, alas is fear
I try and yet I fail
its my cross to bear.
Attempts to pretend
are futile in the end
as the world spins
"this bottle of henny wins".

Y
They shant disregard
writing thats incense
and I shall appreciate it
in all its brilliance.
Because when in splendor
it achieves significance
making our lives grandeur
in all their magnificence.
And thus, I'd pen these out
like a child drives a kite
and alone, they may seem little
but when together, an erudite's.

X
This pretense is intense
with fog so dense
there's always turbulence,
and with a micro lens
we look for clues
and search meaning
where none exists
it just is what it is,
so submit to it
without hope or agenda
just commit to it.

Y
The abundance of these thoughts
the assiduity, perseverance
and now when submitted
you feign that arrogance.
Because ignorance is yet
acceptable, in mere essence
but it can be misleading if the
pretext speaks incoherence.

X
Arrogance, an instance
insensitive ignorance
a word spoken erroneously
sometimes even a glance.
An emotion which gained freedom
trust lost; askance
still we chug along
until next time, so long...

Y
What was completed long ago
as simple as chalk and cheese
and as someone once remarked
no poem is as beautiful as a tree.
Because when its unconnected
the stanzas start to accumulate
and in fullness we become chagrined
it stays, slips, and then culminates.
Done.