Words Poem by Michael Gale

Words
The ones that rhyme.
May or might increase with time
This in itself, can be no crime.

Maybe the beat or meter?
Can rearrange the ear's most intrinsic thoughts.
Into more suitable beliefs.
Of wars well fought.

Words, that add dimension to time and space.
Gives good riddance, to those I hate.
Words, that roll easily from tongue to page.
To endure close to hearts.the poeticalness', most wanted rage.

Words that sound like alike and patter.
These words make sense of things that really sometimes, don't
really, matter.
Words.
Are like birds.

Flying higher to free themselves, from our conscious selves's.
As like the clouds above that move freer than Santa's Elves.

Should We believe in tales told oft'?
Or land hardest onto the ground, that
remain harder than the hardest soft?

Will these words remain to Our brains and souls, freely aloft?
Or will they choke Us and make Us to have often ed gasped as
coughed.

Tripped over words be naught
Be these roots unholy caught.
Ever said and anchored away.
Never to say, and haply sway.

Roots like our ancestors, go back a time a long.
Sometimes more often ed, remembered fondly in song.
Verbs to Nouns then Nouns to Verbs.
Always used and good as herbs.

Appreciated be these words that rhyme with reason.
For the much anticipated poetic, Season.