Free verse doesn’t come easily to me
I like to loop words together
In orderly segments of time.
It must be all those classes of poetry
Memorising poems tied to the tether
Of metre and rhyme.
It could be an apprehension
Of letting thoughts run away
Like naughty kids on the grounds.
Or a notion that perfection
Would be lost in disarray
Of syllables and sounds.
But at the end of the day
It’s how I say best
What my heart whispers to me
So when words begin to stray
I pull them back to the test
Of sequestered harmony.
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