You are an exotic repast and I’d like to partake

But each time I pull you close in order to taste your make

I find myself once again set on the path of collapse

Devastation, it awaits me for my gluttonous lapse.

Others swear you safe to sample

Yet when I heed their example

Tears well up and I cannot breathe

Your presence gives me cause to grieve.

Perhaps there is some raw emotion that I’ve ill prepared

But all of these repeated poisonings have left me scared.

So many love you, I cannot claim you to be toxic

However, I do believe that I might be allergic.

Sweet at distance, sour at lip

What a strange fruit your loving is.

Stanzas have lost literature’s respect 

Leaving it quite the act of sedition 

To keep honouring that old tradition. 

Poets take up words when they feel the urge 

With rapier wit, our dwindling army fights 

But those of my craft rarely know spotlights.

As recognition is hard to obtain 

Flowing lines lose in popularity 

Making mine courage or temerity.  

Perhaps that’s just the nature of the trade 

To dare greet those who don’t appreciate 

With faith in the worth of what I create. 

That art is how we decorate spaces 

And music is how we decorate time 

I have heard it be said, but what of rhyme? 

Verses do well to embellish the mind 

Take thoughts or emotions and leave them gilt

A sharp blade thus beckons for a fine hilt.