Sharing a Poem

Last night I was up past midnight. I had been writing for a while. I write very often- most of it is poetry. I keep a journal that I write in daily. At one point, I was reading something- a sonnet- that I'd written early last month. Three times last night, I read it closely:

So dear, sweet Muse, my ear to hear you sing

Your music true. Breathing poetic lines;

No answer yet to me, nor any signs

How song and poem are two, and not one thing.

Listen: Keen ear and eye to either bring

The grace of words a feeble soul aligns;

His muse and pen tight tangled as in vines-

But lo. Both give that joy and bitter sting!

My song: Guitar and these, my simple thoughts

A voice too young to yet echo the breeze.

The sound that makes of life a poem is not.

A poem, a bed time tale, spoke soft, with ease.

One page of words I plan, fore’er be taught.

And ever worthy of Anthologies.

I like it. You can probably tell that I enjoy poetry. A lot more than most other people. It's a true Petrarchan sonnet. It follows all of the rules.

Writing is my passion. It is an outlet, a way of expression, and also practice. You get better the more you write. I've written hundreds of pages of poetry, and there are those few- like this sonnet- that stick out to me and make me proud. Inspiration is everywhere, but it's a pretty hard to capture. It's even harder to write it down on paper, and make it sound nice and have an emotional appeal.

This isn't my most passionate piece, nor is it my favorite. But if there's one poem I've written that best captures the essence of who I am as a person, it is this sonnet.