Do you Rhyme?

I climb the vine that's grown from my mind, out of my head

and look down at the x's and o's written in red, drip

I yearn to sip from the fountain of everything that's been said

and take stock of the past from the comfort of my bed

But I only dream in blues and blacks of recent nights

Shackled to the reality of distant and perilous plights

Eager to run and put up my fists to join the fights

Exploding around me and dimming the street lights

My fists are small and ineffectual yet my words have weight

like all other words born from lips and packaged in a crate

marked fragile, open with care but beware of senders hate

because the state that we are in is a bit past due, maybe late

So I sit perched on my vine instead and tilt my head to the side

to get a better view of love and everything that's been tried

to make things better, or worse but I can't even hide

the fact that my curiosity outweighs tact or the tears that I've cried