The Rhyme

Neither time nor wit shall outlive this rhyme Of a bent twist in my prime But you might watch with the silence of a mime And marvel at the glittering slime Falling off a fractured life as sour as lime. My foul choice navigated me into a rough clime So mean like a bad tale at teatime , Holding on to the inner senses, as sticky as birdlime Beleaguered, unable to think in half a time Ambling in no direction, lying in wait as an enzyme . Being a tyrant to myself maybe disregarded as a thyme But never will you see me walk off without leaving you a dime For you will forever remember me in a lifetime As a strange lonely wanderer with a RHYME.