Poetry has to rhyme
No it doesn’t
That lie is just a crime
It’s meant to fixate
To inflate
The curious mind
The literate kind
Words in a verse
The gold in the purse
Of a creative person

Poetry has to rhyme
No it doesn’t
Your wrong this time
Its meant to uplift
To drift
Into a person thoughts
A charm of sorts
Letters in a line
All beautiful and fine
To read everyday

When the sunshine gets lost,
and I'm all alone
Time is forever and still.
Remnants of the sane
remain discarded and gone.
It's cold here and souls divide,
only to remain vacant and up for sale...

Calm and collected in the cross breeze.
Listening to voices of wind whisper your name.
I pray a day will come.
Where I am to be unbound.

And behind me there is,
Where moon-drops fall from your sacred heart.
Lay the bindings of your soul to mine.
Decaying on the wrought ground.

Pale gleams flutter
upon a lap of fluttering streams
and in a dream, the sun melts
as the moon sets at the end of my bed

Island marooned, the mana consumed,
and with ancient runes a song is stitched
as love is woven in the white of wool threads.

Poetry
Is our humble attempt
To describe
The indescribable.