It was almost like a poem

Almost but maybe not so close
Hand grenades  and  horse shoes have
a better chance than a snowball
does in the middle of Hell
unless of course it doth
freeze over this year.

I wrote this ditty not so much dryly
but dimly witty as to say
hey this could be something other
than a ridiculous attempt to
lather on a  compliment
to a  woman who does not
exist which is what I originally
meant this year.

Words  are weapons but hardy
effective plowshears.
poems are messages based more
on feelings than any real
thought that  can be measured
in moments of esoteric pleasure
Eliot and Blake, Frost
with some measure
later  this year.

I  write, not so much in honor
as horror can allow for
improvement and  pause.
I sing with my pen and mark
time with my paper
looking  for rhyme since
reason has  long fled with
what  little passion I had
earlier this year.