This Week's Poetry
The Archives
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.
Back
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1