iambic pentameter poetry

still

Surrounded by noise, life becomes cluttered.
We pass each other by, too busy to
say hello, or how do you do? Friendly
exclamations are forgotten while we
virtually gush over this and that,
living our whole lives in front of a screen,
while our hearts lie vacant, dormant from lack
of use. In the hurry hurry, rush rush
we forget what it means to truly feel.
Emotions are numbed to spare us the pain
of hurting. Yet by guarding us from hurt,
we lose all sense of joy, love, and in the
end, we face a life that is spent unlived.

young dancers

We re-lace our ribbons, push back pins, and
stand up, our hair slicked back, features pulled tight.
Masks we wear to hide cracks in our facade
slip. Pins fly as we pirouette again,
spotting eyes fading fast. Blue leaking
and brown seeping and green slipping from sight.
We are just girls wearing ill-fitting masks
of indifference, trying to be the best.
For once our eyes meet and there is almost
a smile, but we spot again and pull up
our masks tighter, willing them not to slip.
While we chase perfection, we are not friends,
though we wish we were. But the masks mislead.I discovered the peculiar beauty of iambic pentameter a few weeks ago. Originally dreading it, I fell in love with the way the words flowed and the lines read. There is something about the form that allows the poem to breathe. Needless to say, it has become my new favorite. So a question for you...what's your favorite type of poetry?