A Poet's Grief
📷 Prisma a la Vista ( Rhapsody Of Love) You always spoke ill of me, The ‘title’ was always about breaking up, You spoke of it in ‘syntax’, And that made me understand the ‘subject’. You hissed creating strange ‘onomatopoeia’, The ‘repetition’ of your hisses, Created ‘a symbol’ of hatred And you used the right ‘diction’ to hurt me. You made me realize that hatred was the ‘subject matter’, Your statements created ‘rhythm’ and ‘rhyme’ Around my medulla oblongata And I didn't notice any ‘irony’. You made me love your ‘style’ Because you were too ‘audible’, It forced me to fetch negative ‘feelings’ And ‘mood’ because of your language. You became ‘rhetorical’ Because you knew everything. You made a fool of me And took my everything. You made me wish worse for you- Because you always created ‘stanzas’ of tears Down my cheeks whenever I grieved, I always failed to service my thoughts. Your rhythmic voice of ‘criticism’- Always blaming me, Made me think I am an ‘opportunist’- A...