After much delay, here is a Sonnet I wrote that was kind of inspired by my last post on falling in love with a writer. This poem describes the writer’s (or an artist’s) imagination and the struggles it comes with – or rather, the price they pay for such a gift. It’s a simple little english sonnet I whipped up for class the other week. Fourteen line, ABAB..GG format.
Hope you enjoy! I will try to post more often. Until then–
There’s something ‘bout an empty space that sparks
Fire in us, like one with noise cannot.
Like the calm before the storm, a wild heart
Is chaos, adventure, of battles fought.
It kills people by the hundreds, and then some;
It saves thousands from pain and despair.
All while the artist is stuck in a drum —
Like a box in a museum, they stare.
Be us animals? We don’t mean you harm!
The creator of distress suffers more,
Famished, exhausted, alone, and disarmed –
As the storm rages on beyond their door.
All that suffering, trapped in a cage,
Caused by an artist who saw a blank page.
Thanks for reading!