This Month Is Over
(With apologies to Pete Townshend)
This month is over
Excepting one poem, not so easy
Playing so free with verse, not for me
Writing poetic has yet to free me
Harangues and taunts still haunt me
Voices inside that tell me to ride
Fast and far away
Will I ever play so free,
like a breath rippling by
Or haunted forever, will I doubt til I die
2 thoughts on "This Month Is Over"
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plenty of rippling freedom and music in your rhymes
Love the metapoetic elements of this poem