When I think about words
Or rather just let my mind run,
I typically think in poetry;
It’s how my mind thinks.
As I think though,
I tend to become distracted with rhyme
And the scheme of it in time;
I tend to think in aabb meter
But here and there I do teeter.
And it is something about this
Flow and ebb of an ocean I do miss
When I am forced to focus,
Unable to perform my hocus.
I must channel this
But I could never.
And just when I try to escape
The rhyme of aabb, I become abba
Trying to trick myself to stay
In this paradise of sound and drapes.
Even going so low as to cut
My thoughts off as shown in the lines
Of this poem which I write simply defines
How I am doomed to remain in this hut.
Although never did I ever
Say I didn’t love my honey dove;
Rather I try to ignore and defy
Her because I become, on her, hung.
I have a love for her that none adore,
For me alone is her hypnotizing tone;
Naturally she is an escort, a bee
Buzzing from flowers but I keep her power.
But I must try myself to limit
In order to keep my human writ
For if I talked my mind I’d be hit
By others and would lose all of my wit.
So, allow me to calm down
And come off of the high of paradise;
I shall my mind make unwound
And put my honey on ice.
I can feel the regularity
Coming back to me as I write on
Because I have already lost the rhyme
And it doesn’t flow through me.
This is how I exist in reality.
This is how I get by
But no one really knows how long
I remain in this state.
For it never takes me very long
To get back to poetic thinking
And be back in paradise
That I had sadly put on ice.