Aberrant
This poem is a rant, its words are instant
there's no hidden meanings, its just a chant.
This poem is scrabble,its only psychobabble
its a chorus of the rabble, a tower of Babel.
This poem's not literary,its not poetry.
Its just words in a rap, trying to be free.
Its rhymes are a curse,'cos there's nothing worse
than trying to make sense in a regular verse.
So where did it start, this poem at its heart,
but words you gave to me, that I began to chart?
Words are like the weather,rain upon the heather,
they seep into my mind and last like leather.
Your words soak my skin, as I take them in,
I turn them in my brain and churn them out again
Poems are estuaries that speak to the seas,
but, in reality, they are full of tributaries.
So,there's no point in poetry if we have to follow rules.
I'd rather be aberrant than join in any schools.
Words are what I send, but definitions blend
and their meanings conflict, with no start or end.
Why aren't words straight? Simple love or hate
with no false meanings.Why can't we communicate?
So, I'm left with what I state, that when I create
words to resonate, I let them find their fate.