“Deliberate fiction" poetry or else
"Fictive deliberation"? Either way
If not in fact the truth it always tells
Expresses our experience today.
More precious was the light so faerily
That dances in your eyes, than any sonnet,
That all my verse I’d sunder cheerily,
And even Shakespeare’s, just to gaze upon it.
To gaze upon it; but you have departed,
And rain beats on the panes so wild without;
Within my gloomy ritual has started,
Retracing pains that life is mild without.
Because we quarreled, you harshly slammed the door
Departing here, despite the mad downpour.