What do you want when you read any poem?
Should it sound like those in an ancient tome;
And have flowing patterns of chiming rhymes,
With a constant meter and length of lines?
Would you like lovely lies of love lit eyes
And finds of floral features in her guise?

Or should I stop and break into cacophony?
Add harsh, stiff, piercing terminology,
Talk of darkness, death, your soul being rent;
Heartbreak causing shame and hatred and blame.
And I’ll break from my patterns - confuse your expectations
Of this poem by ending in
The wrong places and putting rhymes inside the lines, but not at the ends.

But maybe you’d like that, and I’d hate pleasing you.
So I’ll just keep rhyming by adding shoe.
Go back to my meter of gentle rolls,
That you might recite on your daily strolls;
Or maybe you’d ignore on most nights.
But I’ll stay here, because that’s how I write.