Anaphora

I could write

lyric lines that rhyme,

without a period or comma,

in free-flowing time.

Write, write, write,

I could write

with ink so fine.

I could express

a thousand feelings,

woven into verse,

with heartfelt dealings.

Describe,

as a tectonic plate

collides with a crash,

where emotions abide.

Write in a world

that burns and feels,

that trembles and shakes,

revealing all it conceals.

I could play,

with synesthesia

in my writing space,

and avoid anaphora,

placing words in place.

I could soar away

to a cosmic place,

and paint a star

or capture her grace.

And if one day

I wished it to be,

I could write

for all eternity.

I could write

as long as spring blooms,

in a world

where silence looms.

Write,

in a realm

where no letters dwell,

Write,

for a thousand

whole years,

Crafting

a thousand

stanzas

in a verse.

And if I wanted,

I could write

without end,

an endless

stream

of poems

to send.