rhymesick

We lead lives mostly unspoken;
Littering memories mostly broken;
Trapping our dreams in cobwebs;
Above our warm silk-laden beds;
Wanton fights well into the nights;
Just to understand each other’s plights;
Turning to others for words of advice;
And receiving in return words so trite;
Clearly underrated;
Mostly inundated;
Faulty in our ways to communicate;
Across this barren landscape;
I hate it when it just makes sense to rhyme,
But what is it that makes life so sublime?