The Humility And Truth Of The Non-Rhymer Poem by RIC BASTASA

i could have chosen
the rhyme
so there will be a song
singing its own
song

i could have taken
the tapping measure
of the mathematical
meter
of the feet and toes
like a dancer

but it simply runs against
the spontaneity of
my sighs
the everyday touch of the
hands loving the
uneven fingers
caressing to the beat of
my hair splitting and
spreading away to the
gentle blow of the breeze
from the
raging sea

the truth of the matter is
there is reality to the lines of
wanton wilderness
the random specks of sands
blown away
by the sandstorm in the desert
every hour of
my day
on a safari
the deer running away from
the lion
the fledgling swallow flapping its wings
jumping from its nest
in constant fear of falling
the leaf flip flopping its way
down to the sandy earth
the grass spreading without
the desire measure of
the numbers

i like to rhyme but my life
doesn't
it isn't and it can't

and so here i am on the freedom of my verses
a fish swimming where it will to escape the teeth of the shark
a bird soaring up the skies
its eyes closed
to the beauty of speed unseen
even for the time being un-felt
by the intentional rhyming of the words
the craft of man
wanting fidelity to the English language
now open ended
to the present questions: quo vadis?