Well this is the no rhymes poem I've been threatening to post. I liked the topic but I think the sentence structures need your help, dear reader.
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My soul talks to me sometimes,
Tells me its rhymes and its dreams,
Tells me how much it regrets this,
This thing that we have become.
So unholy is this harmony,
That has come to be this way,
So long is the history,
That has bought my spirit to me.
When I asked proof of its existence,
It laughed at me and said,
“I am always within you, boy,
I am forever without.”
When I asked for a reason,
It moaned aloud and said,
“If I knew I would tell you,
If I knew I would be gone.”
My soul is satirical,
It says that death is fun,
It says that every time it departs,
Its joy knows no bounds.
Sometimes it sits and ponders,
Why it is bound to a material state,
Why it must suffer the consequences,
Sometimes, it feels my pity for it.
It tells me we would be good friends,
If it could just be outside me,
But the irony is that I am it, it is me,
It likes ironies nevertheless.
My soul says that it has been many places,
And it only wishes I was there too,
My soul says it has met many people,
It only wishes I could meet them too.
It smiled on my first meeting with Love,
And it laughed when I met Victory,
It says it finds those traitors amusing,
It says that it is the flaw of the mind.
It told me that the mind is our link,
It says that I am a modified branch,
That it had worked long and hard,
To evolve and create my kind.
Sometimes we take long walks,
We talk in the philosophy breeze,
But it is a busy fellow, no doubt,
It tells me it doesn’t mind my company.
When I showed it this poem,
It said I was a fool,
It’s a nice fellow, my soul,
Only wish it existed.
