Life, Love, and Everything In Between

Untitled

My Darling Su
I think im going to write another poem for you
This one will have ryhmn
So it will take a little more time
I also want to work on my beat
So, please, your attention i wish to keep
It's hard to keep from sounding cheesy
When words that I insist on rhyming are easy
Which, to me,
Is where true talent must be
For use of metaphor and anaphor
Are much more difficult to make cause for
And it really points out the weakness in my vocabulary
When the only word i can think to use next is; Larry.
That is a big problem you see
Because Larry isn't even a word, its an addresse!
Now i've gone and fallen astray
From the point that i've been trying to convey

This next month is going to be very hard
And i don't think i'll be much of a bard
As i travel to and fro
You know how things go:
You get caught up in the particulars of life
And they cause you such stress and strife;
Everyone wants something from you
So much so that you don't know what to do.
You get frustrated with yourself
And peace of mind finds little wealth.
See, this is where i always step in
And hold you until the beat kicks in;
And your feet feel as though they've grown wings
Lifting you above all this toil and sting,
To the cloud that is your bed
Which we would prefer to be upon instead
Feeling my beard tickle your face
Holding you still, calm, and in place
Fighting away the calamity of stress
By mearly holding you to my chest.
And see, that last line is what is called 'half-rhyme'
When syllabes don't match all the time.
But again i digress,
Which is a problem of mine i must confess.

But Su,
This month i won't be there for you
And when you feel like life is overwhelming
Like all the bad things are circling and surrounding
Think of the times we spend upon your sheets
When it is the stress we beat,
Painting each other images of the future
And of the summer, within nature
Our walks,
Our talks,
Of how things should be
Making our own world of clean
White washed canvas'
Waiting to be brandeshed
For the first time with paint
Letting us be our own saints
Setting life as it should be

Stress will come
This is not new under the sun
So when those moments threaten to steal away
All of that peace that you've made
Remember our world where we exist
And in which no pain can persist.
Our Lost City of Atlantis;
Our Tower of Babylon.
Perhaps this place only exists in our mind
A world like no other place;
We set it apart as a State of grace,
For it belongs, and exists to us alone
And it remains our home.
And the way that poets typically end poems like this
Is by adding a 'volta' to add some bliss
As It takes away from the melancoly
By adding a bit more fun and folly.
There is no way to prove that Atlantis exists
For it is only a rumour that persists
Do you remember the security guards theory
That states Atlantis is mearly Antartica in disguise?
And in terms of proof, love can be demonstrated in giving;
Our relationship consists of the efforts we give of swimming towards a lost city
Where love is rumored to be living.
And everyone else is left looking for this Atlantis.

posted by That Canadian Guy @ 5:58 p.m.