T is for tidbit

Woe is me the ever dulling sensations of an over indulged passion.

Gone is the unfortunate condolences of a pastime rarely passed.

Protected is the feeling of discomfort when reality strikes home.

Do you have a poet inside of your head? An idiot who comes up with dull one liners that wouldn't do much to the heart of a passerby much less create an atmosphere for an entire population. I like to talk to the poet when I need a piece of inspiring dialogue at a moment in a story. The story is epic, the plot line structured, that moment of dialogue is a second in the lives of a myriad of characters.
I wish the poet were more literate. Perhaps then they would be more worthwhile. But for now the poet is summoned for a cursory glance in a sea of words.