The Fugitive Rhyme

Let us not think what to say when we feel, It’s getting to the point where that’s all that is real.

Some things only run on biscuits and tea,
But they can be cajoled into being if we really believe,
That time is not money and expression is real,
And commodification is not our purpose or ideal.
It’s simple to be how you are in your words,
No virtue in signals, no need to be heard,
If all that you get is a tick or a click
Or blunt condemnation from a digital stick.
 
The way that I reach you might be jagged and rough,
But rambling mumbles are just sometimes enough,
To reach in and find you in stories we share,
I can notice your eyes; I can follow your stare.
As if I could devolve my flickering thoughts,
Give up pencils and sighs and choose to outsource.
If I didn’t choose up-hills and pitfalls, I’m doing my time,
I will serve out the sentence, the fugitive rhyme. 

Some things are shaped for you and for me,
And we could not embrace surfaces built up to deceive,
So let us not think what to say when we feel,
It’s getting to the point where that’s all that is real.
As if I’d swap mistakes and stiffening losses,
To wither in convenience and the weakness it offers.
As if we could be anything other than brittle and kind,
We’ll stay on the run with our fugitive rhyme.