but even shakespeare slipped once in awhile.
i am but human, and it is the norm
to sometimes miss perfection in my style.
but i believe this is the place for me.
sonnets are my means to communicate.
so, if you would so kindly hear my plea,
please read and tell me if you love or hate.
in my journal there is a great deal more,
sonnets ready to be plucked and tasted,
written by me, to poetry, a whore,
but they don't like to be cut and pasted
they are to share, i'm happy you've read it
please just give sonnetress her fair credit.
what the alchemist did to me
i am broken down and elemental,
each part of me seen in isolation.
energy kinetic and potential
scrutiniz'd in hope of permutation.
attempts are made to coax and to flatter,
to bring forth even a miniscule change,
to transfigure or conjure dark matter,
or some matamorphosis new and strange.
but stubbornly, i persist in my form,
unwilling and unable to alter
though i am still faithful, gentle, and warm,
inevitably, attentions falter.
i know not where the idea was bred,
that you'd somehow render gold from my lead.