CRD: Chronic Rhyme Disease

I swear I will not bow to rhyme

(this time)

For I must learn to let words flow

(let go)

And not to drum with sonic beat

(like feet)

Or try to net the perfect match

(to catch)

 

But now I see I’ve failed once more

(my flaw)

To scatter words like falling leaves

(from trees)

Instead like hiccups in my chest

(no rest)

I search for words that sound the same

(this game)

 

They call it Chronic Rhyme Disease

(don’t tease!)

Or CRD in doctor-speak

(I’m weak!)

The illness isn’t hard to spot

(it’s not!)

And leaves the victim quite distraught

(in short)

 

I guess I’m one such hapless bard

(it’s hard)

Still trapped within a cage of words

(like birds)

A lover of the lilt of lines

(like chimes)

An addict of the rhyming mode

(this ode)

 

 

Copyright 2007

 

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