True, I can rhyme – endwords, and inner too; <br />fangle fine assonance, like thought made new; <br />march to a metre –regular in tread <br />or cunningly disjointed – silken, the thread <br />then sharply pulled, to wake the reader’s ear; <br />rhythms, I can dance with a magic, laughing twirl; <br />play like the ringlets of poetic curls; <br /> <br />but metaphor – ah, there’s the sadness in my play: <br />that golden box, its gleaming lid all joy, <br />all mystery… if I only had the key <br />to throw it open, cave with dark velvet lined, <br />shimmering with jewels from rare and secret mines, <br />flashing with colours never man had seen, <br />thrown together as words have never been – <br />making new language out of words grown old, <br />sounding new sounds of tales that are not yet told.. <br /> <br />oh that I had the gift of metaphor – <br />that showering of gold from a land unknown heretofore…<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-secret-treasured-world-of-metaphor/
