Rhythm of a Rhyme

I haven’t written much,
in such a long, long time,
I am not sure that I remember,
how to craft a rhyme.

Is it the rhythm of the words,
that lulls your brain to sleep,
that allows the nonesense that I write,
to not cause you to weep?

It’s like a swaying dance,
a dangle and a dip,
then a twirl around the floor,
being careful not to slip.

The pattern starts to form,
and words slowly start to flow,
it doesn’t have to make much sense,
as by now you surely know.

It’s the music that’s not played,
that lingers in the soul,
words implied, not spoken,
a simple, easy goal.

Tonight I listened to the rhythm,
I danced a little bit,
it’s no great piece of literature,
but a least I didn’t sit,

this
one
out.

© ceenoa

The Secret Vice

Oh I know I shouldn’t do it
– it will fill me with remorse –
so I listen to your good advice,
nod, and say “of course”.

But in the secret moments
when no-one is around
I give in to my impulse
and the pleasure to be found.

They urge me not to do it,
but my resistance is no match,
to the irresistible, insistent urge
to scratch and scratch and scratch!

© ceenoa