Poetry

When leisure is short yet idle thoughts are not,

In haste must a solution be sought;

A complicated age, won't fit in a page,

The invincible must still be fought.

The blade of rhyme flashes again, slicing great adversaries,

A pocket size edition it is, of the most exotic menageries;

Of love, of hate, of inexplicable melancholy, a poet must sing,

Cramped for space, choked for time, yet all emotions must ring.