Go against the flow, when you need to be fast be slow
When they want it high-brow take it low as it can go.
Be carefree and watch your speed, there really is no need
To plant a poetic seed and sit and watch it bleed.
Beware the easy rhyme coming at the end-line
On words we'll dine, if a poem is to be mine.
We'll mash them up, crash and break and smash
Of metre make an uncomfortable, salty hash.
Salt for the tears poets have wept down the years
So proud to show their fears to their fleeing peers
I read, words written of dread in crimson red
From the heart and never from the head.
Some things are better left unsaid