O, To Ever Understand Thou Poetry Terms
~A twist from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, 1594~
O poetry, poetry, wherefore art thou complex?
‘Tis but thy terms that are my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not prosody.
What's prosody? It is nor verse nor foot,
Nor line nor length, nor any other part
Belonging to a word. O, be some other term!
What's in a poem? That which we call prosody
By any other name would smell as sweet;
Ugh...the enjambment of brain cells
Thy meter of rhythm, no sense of closure
So poetry would, were it not poetry callèd,
Retain that dear insight which it oweth.
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