I just don't what's going on, but it happens every time.
When I put words on paper, they always seem to rhyme.
I don't do it on purpose; they just come out that way.
'Cause I never know, 'til they are done, just what these words will say
Rhyme is not in style these days, a cycle, I suppose.
Today, it's haiku, free verse, and a little dash of prose.
But, rhyming is the only way I've ever penned my thoughts
Even though I've tried in other ways; and, believe me, I've tried lots.
To me; a words a weapon, a tool, a child's new toy.
With words, a poet can convey, great sorrow, pain, or joy.
They're like a fencer's shining foil, or his lightning swift tepee
And harm or good will all depend on what these words will say
There are poets here who write so well, they take my breath away,
And reading new, exciting poems, is how I start my day.
I'm never disappointed by new poems that I find here
Each and every one brings a message, delivered loud and clear.
So, I don't know just what to do. It seems I'm stuck in time.
I love to write, but sometimes wish, my damned words didn't rhyme.
But, dear friends, I'm not a quitter, and I'm compelled to right
And, if I keep on writing long enough, perhaps, I'll see the light.
If you think I may be jealous, perhaps you're not that wrong.
As poets here keep moving up, sometimes I feel I don't belong.
Perhaps, as with each cycle, these new styles will not last.
If the do, then I can only hope, you won't forget the past.
Well, I'll just keep on telling stories, as I have, these many years,
And hope my words bring laughter, love, and sometimes, even tears.
I sit here, my soul is sad..my mind begins to rage.
For every time I write, I put my very heart on every page.
And when I give a piece of my heart, it happens every time
I start out fine; with the first line; Then the words begin to rhyme
