Rhyme-Less Comments

Alas, Stanley Cooper there's more to fear Than the absence of a rhyme lurking near. It's the way that words seem to say Something else from what's in play. You start out to make a statement When your brain is in forment, Then the logic and sense slip away And nothing remains but shapes of clay. Molded into a sculpture that has no meaning And sometimes the sight is quite demeaning. Yet you struggle with each line Hoping to find something more sublime Till at last you admit defeat Just in time, and in hasty retreat You, like a general that has lost the war And saving face, his only care. So you put to paper (or to the computer screen) The reminants of a shattered dream And close the book of time and space Until you can find another place In which to freely associate thoughts and words In rhyming sequence in bits and schards. Then suddenly you'll shout 'Eureka! I got it.' Only to discover the thoughts don't fit.