My paper withstands when my hand lands
My wrist understands all my mind’s commands
My paper bans nothing that my heart demands
My pen brands words like a printer scans
My desk stands through my scripted plans
It’s a victimless crime if poems don’t rhyme
To the senses, purely sublime
Literature to be read in double time
But I challenge that, rhyming’s nonsense
Senses can be stimulated
Tantalized and integrated
Articulated, but outdated to the rest of humankind
Words can lift you like breeze lifts leaves in the fall
Switching scheme and theme seems sacrilege after all
Leave your oblique rhymes and iambic pentameters at home, I couldn’t.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC