CRD (Chronic Rhyme Disease)

By Wayne Visser

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)

 

Wayne Visser © 2007

 

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