I was challenged to write a 14-line rhyming poem in iambic pentameter. What I learned: I hate structure! But here it is:
wholly incomplete, dusty and battered
ripped twice with weak hands, today thrown away
yet the only thing that really mattered
without it his life was in disarray
he once had given to it tender care
but now it lay completely neglected
an untidy heap on the rocking chair
not a hope or prayer of being resurrected
til he had faded for so many sad years
and remembered what he had lost and found
wisdom often comes with much grief and tears
hoping for life the other way around
but still the color of blue stains the wood
while soft breezes offer silent retreat