A Shakespeare sonnet to befit a king
The sun will rise a bird will sing
All these clichés to express emotion
Of love of sadness of endless devotion
But where is passion in grandeur recycling
Of elegant words from others deep likening
Originality is dead people often express
Can one be unique in one forty characters or less?
The last nail in the coffin of words that died
Overused vocabulary from authors that lied
Tragic deception of unexampled dichotomy
Every person with pen and paper a poet travesty
Who am I to expose that obscene?
A generational “hipster”, an angst filled teen.
These labels we call ourselves to demean incoherency,
Who notice flaws in our peer’s pretentious illiteracy
We are not wrong to crave beauty and grace
“But soft what light through yonder window breaks”
Beat this dead horse for dictions that bless
But everyone’s the same! Glass eyed, expressionless.