Stabs at Sonnet #1
Come autumn, doffs the oak its cloak of green,
And winter leads the bee to hibernate,
'Tween all things terrestrial or submarine,
The clasp of time does not discriminate.
And oft when I have ventured out to walk,
It seems a train of futile step-for-step,
For time, if has my breath in hammerlock,
And if I can do naught to sidestep death,
Then life remains a comedy distilled,
Enslaved by time- or rather, it would be,
Did writing not refute his dauntless will,
And poems not outlive his tyranny.
And through this thought do I comfort my soul-
My pen, my ink are never growing old.
~•■•~
A/N- I know, I've used this meter hundreds of times. But this poem is my first try at the sonnet! Yay!
I know, sonnets are meant to be praised, but I didn't know that when I wrote this, so presenting to you- a sonnet that does not praise!
I've planned to write more of these, so tell me how much this sucked xD
YOU ARE READING
Blots
Poetry[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
