Sonnet #1

Sonnet #1

If I, in fourteen lines, may chance to scribe
What voice has failed to heretofore express
Illuminations as a brew imbibe
To cleanse within the parching choke of stress.
If I, in beats of ten, may satisfy
The rhythm of my heart in given verse,
May beats perchance what men may never try?
(Though they the better still, while I the worse.)
If in these quatrain three and rhyming pair,
I find the comfort (dare I say) I lack,
Then brew, and beats, and verse extraordinaire
Bestride my path to get my freedom back.
For even those who wish their knights arrive,
Must want to live in order to survive.

Contributors:
DancesWithThunder (edits)