There seems to be an attitude, regarding rhyme,
That suggests free verse
A better way to waste your time.
Problem is, with meter lost
And structure sent away at cost
What's left is but a soup of sound
That works for some
But for others, hounds.
To me the art lies in the rules, to know the code and sift the pools
And once or twice to bend a straight...
Throw out a line that doesn't scan.
If you make it the point of the whole piece, however,
You can easily **** the whole endeavour.
But that's just me and, taste is taste,
Yet, don't rub free verse in my face
And claim it the right over the wrong.
A dying style or old timed song
Can have a strong effect, I find
Amid the rolling buzz of contemporary lines.

People pass by me,
   from all  every direction
even in winter snow.

From exhausted firemen,
      expectant mothers,
               forgotten children,
         marathon sprinters.
    Even grumbling men carrying heavy, ancient computer printers.

Each have their share and take their turn on me, the local sheltered, secluded
seat.
Even if only for a deep breath and a break or a little body
heat.
    
   Bags and books, all sorts of things have been dropped or left on me, proposals have even happened here, you
name it.
If you don't believe it, come see for yourself and
frame it.

Pitter patter,
Is that the sound of the drops of rain streaming outside down my windowpane or is it in the pain I am feeling while the tears cascade down on my swollen cheeks?
I try to speak but no words come out,
The rain stops.
Pitter patter, the sound of my tears and the thudding of my heavy heart are now one.
I try to speak but no words come out.

You think you're something special
brought up under love and protection
taught to go and be free-
but Freedom does not come without seeking a reward.
Stuck on the streets or in rough situations
nobody knows your name or story, they don't care
get your job done and go home because the world doesn't want you until you can offer it something.
It's easy to find faith in another
so similar you are
working two full time jobs a piece just to make ends meet
in the same place an (armed) man was gunned down last week.
You don't know his name or story, you don't care
you just want to get your job done and go home because you don't want the world until it's offering you something
and you've found someone to share your burdens with.

Part your lips and speak my name
in a whisper so quiet the dead can't even hear it
because I want to know you're mine.
Come closer and tell me you own me
so I can pull you to my body and plant a kiss to your neck
and murmur my sins into your skin
because we're both going to Hell someday.
Drag me to my knees
and make me plead for you to stay
because you're too good for any saint
and I can't possibly worship you enough.

You're my sun and I want to ******* bask in your glow
like you're the only thing there and like you're all that I see
until there really isn't anything left.

It is 7:19 in the morning and I want nothing more than to
wrap my arms around your waist
and pull your body to mine
and kiss your shoulder blade
and the back of your neck
and your cheek
and your hair
and it isn't enough to murmur your name every waking moment of my life
because I could be holding you instead
but there are
miles
and hours
and years
between us
and I know it's worth the wait
but, man,
what I wouldn't give to feel you right now.