Dactylic Trimeter

An exploration of a poetic meter

Poetry always amazes me, 
seemingly flowing and gossamer.
Pouring out honest soliloquy,
straight from the heart of its messenger. 

Surely such sharing of honesty
needing no faulty contrivances
forms in its structure organically
hidden from logic's cold sciences.

Why then the need for a trimeter
measured by lips parting silently?
Hard are our feelings to minister.
Why parse our love out dactylically?

Maybe the rhythm is integral.
Counting the moments of time fleeting
Telling us death comes at last stanza
Ending the thumps of our hearts beating.

The End

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