The rhythms swing while changing their shape,
Feel how they capture every moment of the being,
The form they cling to can bestow or rape,
And brighten every shadow of the feeling
Your own self is born with every word
And any rhythm bears the proportion
Of harmony and chaos. You may board
Or fall a victim of your own distortion.
So choose your rhythms, try the taste they leave,
Ejaculate the words, in hatred or in passion,
Words suffer, laugh and moan when you grieve…
And every rhythm is your own possession.