From The Lab

With These Rhymes

It seems to me that with these rhymes,
A fascination of the times,
A false reflection, slightly true,
Piercingly pure, a piece of you,
Hung there frozen within the tide,
Cresting again, in even strides,
All but alone, drifting away,
Endless floating towards today;
If rhyme could be, always, of this,
To comfort, entice, and exist,
To strike a quest, cause great unease,
(Trifles that bring some to their knees),
Then please allow poetic needs,
An ear, some bread, for our small deeds,
Then we shall push our job again,
Freeze thy blood and towards the end,
Once more direct the course of men
Through Destiny's last twist and bend.