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.