“A poem shouldn’t rhyme” she said,
I thought about that hard.
“Use only the very best words” she said,
And I promised myself that I would.
Rhyme taunted and tainted my every attempt,
At crafting a beautiful poem.
Around every corner it lurked and it lured,
Siren-like reeling me in.
I ignored its advances,
And soldiered on,
Thesaurus held tight like a weapon.
Gripped by the challenge,
I hunted for words,
That were perfectly crafted in meaning.
I used words that were new,
And words that were long,
And words that were strangely sublime.
But however hard I battled away,
I was always lured backwards by rhyme.
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