Inkling

prosody - the patterns of stress and intonation in a language

I've wondered for that simple kin
Away of flock to dock
In the distressing temptress sea of wind
Where so common flies the free of stock
I've mused at musings they must make
Lacking open maw enough to thaw
To a mastery's sublimation
A surf of endless breaks and shakes
That wears us mundane mares all raw
I've worried that this self might too
Flit from grit to the moonlit
To tilt and lilt to a gamey heart
Where all is warm with electric start
But finishes omit
But furthest, deepest, shriekest fright
Summons in achromatosis
Circles pragmatical
Candles Contractual
With fine printing to the abyss
Of the kind you always miss
Creative apotheosis