Slept wrong yet again
My neck speaking in riddles
None which are helpful
I'm chasing my shadow
Walking in circles
Caught in a daydream
That keeps spinning round
Speaking in riddles
Using unspoken words
Whispered so softly
Never making a sound
In a world of unknowing
Time has no purpose
The clock keeps on ticking
While both hands are bound
This place in my darkness
Life is contrary
A world colored in abstract
Painting thoughts so profound
Double Minded
I doubt that my insides reflect my outsides
Outside, I want to trust and love you
inside an eerie feeling brews.
Outside I smile and carry on
inside my feelings don't
have words attached
just signals of how
you make me feel
apprehensive and rushed.
Thoughts speaking in riddles
reminding my mind
of your unkindly acts
you treat me as a pigeon.
My outside can no
longer stretch to hide
The strain of pain
I feel inside.
How do I look at you
And not feel disdain.
Sad to know my kindness
somehow appeared as weak.
You don't acknowledge what I speak.
Inside myself, I get caught up
Outside myself, I want to show.
What my insides, really know.
There once was a Queen from Kent,
Whose notebooks have yet been rent,
Who spent all her time
Creating a rhyme,
So her kingdom was downward sent...
Along came a Champion so proud!
But his followers were MUCH too loud!
They woke up the Queen,
Creating a scene,
So her soldiers kicked him 'about'...
"Say what!?" Screamed the Queen
As she looked him 'between'...
"Let him up!" She did order,
"And kick one another!"
As was the law in 1319...
"This man will be MINE," said the Queen,
"Yes, this man will be my King!
He'll save our dear land,
And lend me a hand
With a little personal something."
SAID THE CHAMPION:
"You MUST stop speaking in riddles, my dear,
For your words to my mind do adhere!
If I'll be your King,
Then do this one thing,
Or you'll lose me fore'er, I fear."
The Queen did her best to adjust,
Turning eloquent words into dust...
She barely could talk,
So her mate she did stalk,
And spent her days wrapped up in lust...
Her stories are many, I hear,
But many are filthy, I fear,
So I'll leave up to guess
How she got out of her mess,
And how her Champion honestly saved her.
One day
A stranger came up to me
Speaking in riddles
He said:
Inspiration incites the inscence within that incarnates indigo indians.
I did not know what he ment until he followed up with:
"You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club."
- Jack London
I then
realized
what he was
talking about.
Do you?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.