I write in couplets an end-line rhyme
Not always on time nor an obvious relatable line
A force, a muscle that gives me pause
It is how I think, what gives my logic cause
It is my emotional lacking type of reasoning
Sometimes controlling as natural as breathing
It gives discipline echoes of a still breeze
Holds my shoulders down but not enough to seize
I don’t feel happy as other peers
Not sadness around corners arming fears
I become efficient to create a beneficial probable outcome
A hot fire starts but ends in embers sum
To protect my emotion an armor on my soul
Automatic and mechanic that avoids a tole
But a sword double-edged as always two sides
While the earth rotates absolutely as the tides
I find myself no different than before being on the stage
Never stopping but simply turning the page
I am not in pain not a wincing shudder
But to tell an emotion I cannot utter
But it only ends in an empty room with lights that flicker
Followed only by the voice of a single lonely Vicar