I find it somewhat funny, when you consider poetry, that the form it takes can both guide how it flows or constrict it. Below is all I could come up with before the idea looked at how I was doing and told me to push off:
Life expands, new paths unfold
Which course should I take? Must I be bold?
Choices abound, they vi for attention
….
There is no overt value in producing a poem that rhymes. Certainly, the rhythm it brings is helpful, but requiring a rhythm shouldn't shape a poem, and that's what was going on above. Sometimes I feel like writing a poem without rhymes is just cheating.
Like each breath I take, the pressure rises and falls.
My life rushes onward, though its pace never changes
Yet each new occurrence changes a plan
Which, I must confess, was hardly for certain
The warmth and security a decision will bring
Lasts only until a new choice appears.
It is these choices which tear at my mind
And yet they are comforting, forging a path
So I may be uneasy with challenges I face
Yet without them, I would float aimlessly
So I welcome my choices, and look ahead
Each question answered brings a new one to bear
Each line tried so hard in my mind to rhyme with the one preceding it, it was like beating back an animal. Rereading that creation, I am unsure whether it was right to fight the desire to rhyme. Maybe a little moderation is key in this area.
What would it be like if our dreams could lead us to a world between an absolute dream and the reality we leave behind when we fall into slumber? A world that is both small and infinite, existing on the edge of reality and a world of conscious and unconscious imagination, every little thing a person on Earth has ever dreamed of. A place of dreams manifest, where the proximity of reality has pulled such dreams out of their fleeting form and into something more permanent. This place would almost be a gate between the dream world and that of reality, caught in a tug of war as each grows and weakens, affecting the other as innumerable factors shift subtly.
I think this is a place that a man named Richard Ancile will visit, should I have my way and he lets me tell his tale.
We shall see.
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