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Published: 2014-10-24 21:01:02 +0000 UTC; Views: 444; Favourites: 0; Downloads: 0
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Yet I care little for rhyme,
Highlighting the end of my line.
I enjoy the emotion
it invokes in my heart,
Joys and repulsion
It's all part of the art.
Metaphors are king
and similes the queen
Every line gets a ring
Poetry is a painting unseen.
Then every line has a beat
what a treat,
It slips down your feet
And into the concrete on the street.
Assonance runs amuck,
Stanza to stanza
The verses get hectic
The lines are spoken faster.
If you're a Dickinson you'll end in a dash-
If you're like Plath you may do something rash,
If you're a Yeats you'll talk about 'pyrnes and gyres'
If your'e a poet your idea are like fire.
Fire consumes
In its passion it dooms
It takes a blank page and solders it's sin,
Takes over our hands
And we will always let the poetry win.








