RhymePlay

I’m doin’ a seven-eight-six hullabaloo of a rhyme!

Let’s see if I can explain that. In each six-line unit, there is alternate rhyming, while each discrete three-unit follows the syllabic pattern of seven syllables, eight syllables, and six syllables. I have tried to keep it iambic, and I hope there is a name for the meter. Without further ado, here is it:

Stoned I sit, in blended bliss,

To rise to my sweet maiden sky

And offer her a kiss.

Worn and weary passers-by,

With eyes that wish to make a swish,

Pass quietly, as I sigh.

Lonely wit wants tenderness

And hearts need starts and ends again

While love do make its mess.

Tones of silver manly pain

Meanwhile does dress a board of chess,

Deep hidden, in the vein.

Keep me low for earthly woe,

And winds that scar the sky’s visage

To offer me a blow.

I pray to thy womb’s flotage:

It kept me going through the show,

Without a stumble large.