Metre

If I were to choose a metre
by which I live my life
which one would I choose
that would stand for measure
One that could count each slice
Of effort and achievement
days of ennui
When germinated escapism
Shielded sore eyes

Which metre could measure
The emptiness of days
the fullness of business
The neediness of current craze
It would be the rhythm
that guides me through the maze
Allow me to pretend
That I’m not really all a-daze

Should I choose one
that regularly rhymes
There is credible comfort
A certainty that chimes
It’s what poetry has always been
And life will always be so
Nothing ever changes
The rhythms of life are slow

It fills the empty pages
With instant inevitability
As if when the drum rolls
It rolls for thee

Would it not be Haiku
Its simple syllabicity
Guiding us through space
Lulling us into belief
of processing apace
that mind can beat the metre
If the metre allows
Why not then choose the one
That lets you think you’ve won

Maybe walk the iambic
But the pentameter’s so done
I quite like how the metric
Meets imperial reckon

Do, help me choose a metre
It will help me ever so
the bits will fall in rhythmic sync
I’ll believe it’s ordered so
I’ll even think that the metre
Was chosen by me to show
How much I can live by
Perfect poetic flow.

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