| This Week's Poetry The Archives |
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| The Perfect Rhyme (A Sestina). I never seem able to find the time To come up with a proper rhyme. My busy life, devoid of sleep, Forbids my soul to search too deep. So I must simply use my head To find the perfect words instead. I try to seek an explanation instead Of accepting death this one last time. As pain and loss confuse my head, I desperately seek to find the rhyme To help me with this fear, so deep It makes me long for endless sleep. My fears refuse to go to sleep And choose to invade my heart instead. They laugh as the sorrow cuts so deep As to scar my soul yet another time. I strive once again to create the rhyme Which will keep the sanity in my head. I know not now which way to head; To continuous life or eternal sleep. My soul, forbidden to seek the rhyme And forced to wander endlessly instead Returns to try one final time To combat a fear which runs too deep. It searches for meaning within the deep Recesses of my insane head Hoping to breach the fear this time And circumvent death's endless sleep, And free my troubled heart instead By providing it with a perfect rhyme. The fear conspires to ruin the rhyme Which my soul attempts to plant so deep. But the heart interferes with fear instead Of letting it corrupt my aching head, And strives to put the fear to sleep And vanquish it for good this time. The perfect rhyme, inside my head Imbedded so deep, it rejects death's sleep And chooses instead to remain this time. |
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