The Truth Only Lies When in Bed

Written in verse, it pretends.
Starting with structure, it ends.
When one tries to rhyme,
One wastes their time.
Written in verse, it pretends.

On this white paper, I write.
Here on this paper, I fight.
Here I wage wars,
To open closed doors.
On this white paper, I write.

I wish I could be wish you now.
But I know that I will be, somehow.
I love you, my dear,
And I with you were near.
I wish I could be with you now.

I must not abuse this this term, love.
For the truth is as pure as a dove.
If we overuse,
We find we abuse.
I must not abuse this this term, love.

As once it began, it now ends.
Because written in verse it pretends.
Once it went 'round,
And the end I have found.
As once it began, it now ends.