A Year of Poems – Day 12

Do you think it’s wrong to rhyme?
I must admit I do it all the time.
It’s easier for words to sing
If occasionally you hear the ring.

“O but its trite,” they say
and then they walk away
as if that was that.
What they mean by trite
is usually that there couldn’t be meaning
inherent in the sound of a word
and even if there could be a gleaming
in one word there is no system
connecting words in a web of wisdom
that might even have a center.
So for them to rely on rhymes is to enter
into the centerless chaos and write
about an imposed fantasy land.
They might be right.

I am not naïve enough to believe
that what I say and what you hear
will always adhere to what I meant.
Language is bent in ways
we cannot trace.
It twists and turns
then we bend it even more to our ends.

If there was a center,
we knotted up the path years ago.
The gate is gone.
We can’t enter the garden like we did before,
to skip and sing on the lawn.

But if there was a web,
there would be strings.
Some might hang loose,
blowing in the breeze,
but others might be drawn tight.
If you plucked them,
they might even ring out with
an echo of an old sound.

If there was a path
you would expect well-worn roads to remain.
Even after years of disarray,
some paths should be plain.

If there was a garden,
I would not expect my words to reach it,
but if I was to trace a well-worn path
or pluck something on some strings
before forging new paths,
that might actually be old,
so that others could find their way
a little better through the underbrush,
well, perhaps I will find
that even after all this time
It’s well worth my time to rhyme.

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