Verses adoring unrhymed poetry

Crooked syllables in the head,

Drifting the contentment far away,

Living the soul half-paralyzed, 

Falling to fit in their unpleasing size.

The burning fire in the veins,

Has settled for something once known as completely waste, 

The metaphors begging to heal,

But the cold heart has lost its sheen.

For now, it looks numb, 

And no song cheering up its motion,

It fails to distinguish feelings & facts,

Causing a plague that isn't easy to address.

Sobbing for felicity lost in hasty,

Ferreting for it with the glance of hazy,

Smelling like sunburnt honey,

Singing a lament of verses telling unrhymed poetry.