Revision 2
Tired of red roses
and blue violets
If you expect me to compare myself
to a Summer's day, or feel
that love is in the air, then I am not
the poem for you.
I am humidity that precedes malaria,
rhythm without rhyme, and stolen fire.
With me, you will finally understand why
a flower is lonely, and why you lie
restless beneath the moon. I will not be
your Russian nesting doll
for I will never lose myself in you,
as you will in me.
~~~
Edit: Made some edits, some milo suggested, some new. I toyed with removing the second why and didn't like it. One option I also considered was after lonely: , as you lie restless (or still breaking on lie). I dabbled with the fire line a bit, and settled for simplicity at this point.
Revision .5
Tired of red roses
and blue violets
If you expect me to compare myself
to a Summer's day, or feel
that love is in the air, then I am not
the poem for you.
I am the humidity that precedes malaria,
rhythm without rhyme,
and the stolen fire of insight.
With me, you will finally understand why
a flower is lonely, and why you lie restless
beneath the moon. I will not be
your Russian nesting doll
for I will never lose myself in you,
though you may in me.
~~~
Good typo catch Jenn (they can sneak in no matter how much we read over these things.
Alright let me look at the thing without Ebola (Edit).
Tired of red roses
and blue violets
If you expect me to compare myself
to a Summer's day, or feel
that love is in the air, then I am not
the poem for you.
I am humidity that precedes malaria,
rhythm without rhyme, and stolen fire.
With me, you will finally understand why
a flower is lonely, and why you lie
restless beneath the moon. I will not be
your Russian nesting doll
for I will never lose myself in you,
as you will in me.
~~~
Edit: Made some edits, some milo suggested, some new. I toyed with removing the second why and didn't like it. One option I also considered was after lonely: , as you lie restless (or still breaking on lie). I dabbled with the fire line a bit, and settled for simplicity at this point.
Revision .5
Tired of red roses
and blue violets
If you expect me to compare myself
to a Summer's day, or feel
that love is in the air, then I am not
the poem for you.
I am the humidity that precedes malaria,
rhythm without rhyme,
and the stolen fire of insight.
With me, you will finally understand why
a flower is lonely, and why you lie restless
beneath the moon. I will not be
your Russian nesting doll
for I will never lose myself in you,
though you may in me.
~~~
Good typo catch Jenn (they can sneak in no matter how much we read over these things.
Alright let me look at the thing without Ebola (Edit).
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson