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If I could there would be no point

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If I could write a poem about the lover I lost in perfect rhyme,
If I could scribe a 14-line sonnet about my one and only,
If I could include a structured description of all the ways in which he broke my generic heart.
If I could explain how he “tore me in two”


If I could concoct a gleaming metaphor about my other half,
If I could thought provokingly compare him to the “inconstant moon”
If I could pretend I spent half my life “lost in his eyes”,
If I could sprinkle my lament with emotive language,


If I could alliterate each heartfelt line,
Would it be heart felt?
Or would you just like it because everything was spelled correctly, sounded deep enough to be classed as poetry and because I was prosaic enough for you to identify with me.



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