B

I am led to ruin by complexity and rhyme.
Verbosity and simple charm will never turn back time.
In truth, to force the moment resembles something of a crime...
ENOUGH!
I will not be confined by rhythm and timing!
I will say what I like, and avoid all this rhyming!
My emotions will not be captured and forced
To resemble crude sonnets as a matter of course.

I sense something is wrong, a catch in my plan,
....no....nothing's wrong, get ahold of yourself, man!
You must focus on what you are trying to say!
Lest you want the poetry to have it all its own way?

No...no...
You are right, it is simple - a matter of tact,
The problem is isolated and bound to a pact.
This curious penchant to make it all swing,
Is truly a most diabolical thing.

So then, what to do? I must stop this, right now!
But again, and alas, I can't figure out how!
I sit here and rhyme with the blankest of stares,
And allow the emotion to drift away on the air!

STOP, STOP!
You are allowing it to entrap and ensnare!
The allure is so strong; of the poems, beware!
They dilute the emotion and change it to sell,
Processing devils, from a poisonous hell.

Metaphor is a monster who seeks to undo,
Alliterate, and all agonies are allowed to acrue!
Simile; like a snare, to catch the unwary,
And darkened allusion? Well, that's just plain scary!

You must stop yourself, and listen to me!
You have been blinded by language, if only you'd see.
Your feelings and passions are but slaves to the word,
Confine them to pages, and they'll never be heard!

And yet...and yet...
Perhaps this desire to rhyme and make verse,
Is not in the nature of a curious curse?
Perhaps this is right, and you are the taint,
You preach all this madness and claim you're a saint?

I know that these poems are not what I need,
I know they are often too cryptic to heed,
But they vindicate ME, nothing more, nothing less.
And provide me with some small, satisfied happiness.

So back to your corner, you disgusting self-doubt!
I'll allow my emotion to run rampant without!
And pin it to pages and hold them up high,
And say - this is me, this is how, this is why.



This last stanza does not rhyme.
I am writing it in order to prove to myself,
That I can express how I feel without resorting to gimmicks,
But use them just the same.