Triskaidekaphobia

Words will rhyme, dread keeps time,
dripping scarlet metronome: click, click, click,
sounds like this, scream
                                        scream
                                                      scream.
Then came love, white winged dove
soaring words, blood pastel.
Sunrise pink,
flowers bloom
blue, and pink,
white – so white,
such a pure, fragrant white.
I loved you,
you loved me. So we thought.
So I write poems
                               poems
                                              poems.
ease the screams, goes with dread,
dance in words, burns like fire
to rhythms
not so deep
word have souls,
sometimes haunt
a melody from the words --
becoming notes.
Piano soft, words
                                words
                                              swords.
Words are real, feel, feel, feel.
I'm a fake, I blend to cloth,
a rich, rich
tapestry
of verses
and commas.
Too many now, commas pause.
Write a poem, spin wheel buzz
Sometimes poems
                                      are just
                                                    poems,
sometimes not.

Know my mind, hard to find,
lost it once, never found:
Lost and found,
not around.
want to fly,
want to love
poetry, and I hate
poetry, I want to stop
Look at me -- no, don't look.
On occasion I will rhyme
                                                rhyme
                                                            rhyme,
words will speak as I fade
to pastel. Fear thirteen?
In the end words survive,
I will, I will die.