What rhyming references have I not yet made?
Life, strife, pain, restrain,
what yet remains in the pursuit of the rhyme,
what yet remains unused by ignored time?
When both questions and answers seem overused,
and the words coming out of these hands seem overused,
repetition is unwanted, cliche’ is unwarranted,
right is left and left is whatever the hell it is.
What is left to be written, except the forgotten,
those memories unsure if a secret, quiet whisper of a memory,
but just one of my mother’s stories.
Must music be that which changes everything,
hearing it through that whisper…
Tones. tones. tones. Capitalualized First Letters,
lowercase, lowercase, all these boxing, confining rule-setters.
With closed eyes, hopeful words, uncertain pauses,
and the swallowing of all those painful losses,
may words unfold that enfold your eyes,
may perspective be revoked, to hope for honesty in lies,
and in the search for that day, for that land of peace,
never forget the sunlit days, while writing of the darkness.
Let not the fears and the reactions to the hurt,
or the instinct, anger and the avenging retort,
let it not sway you from the smile of knowing,
that one day the powers will shift, and for that day now,
the seeds we are sowing.
Continue the feeble rhyme, and go on, keep growing,
till the last light vanishes, and you will glow, glowing.
Meliora 