Though humorous, this is a serious poem. When I started dabbling in poetry, it was a fun side-hobby which served as a creative outlet. Quickly, though, it turned my every thought into a rhyme. Watch out! Poetry is serious stuff…

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I suppose it’s a gift, to be able to rhyme 
But to be quite frank, it feels more like a vine 
That tightens its grip with every new line 
And grows stronger with the progression of time

Even in my sleep, when I think I’m alone 
I’ll have some strange vision, I’ll pick up a phone
Then behold, on the other end, someone will speak 
And upon hearing them, my knees will grow weak 

For within the speech that I hear in my head 
There’s a rhyme of some sort that fills me with dread 
For I know it’s a plague without an escape 
The rhymes have strangled my thoughts like a snake 

Even my dreams, where I should be in flight 
Have been suffused with this terrible blight 
The gift of the poet is the curse of rhyme 
It works its way in like poisonous slime 

So watch out, and stop reading, or you’ll end up like me 
Drowned in a meaningless doggerel sea