This week's poem is not quite like what it sounds. A Minute Poem does not take just a minute to compose, as it's strict and formulaic and I found really quite frustrating to write.
A minute poem is 60 syllables consisted of 12 lines of strict iambic meter. The 12 lines are broken up in three stanzas consisting of six rhyming couplets. There are eight syllables in the first lines of each stanza, and four syllables for the remaining nine lines. It's as formulaic as a minute, which is strictly 60 seconds - no more, no less - yet much more complicated with its rules.
I can handle a rhyme scheme or syllable count, but having both really made it too constricting for me to enjoy because I couldn't make it perfect in my eyes. Maybe that's how and why it developed into the quicksand theme. But in any case, here it is:
Sinking
Thinking of who I used to be
is how I see
how I became
part of the game.
While in its throes I justify,
turn a blind eye,
give in to it –
a quicksand pit.
The change made for me to my life
balanced the strife
I fought to keep
while in too deep.
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