Why is it I'm compelled to write in form,
when it seems so rigid then to some?
Spoken language is the common norm,
what in a conversation might seem dumb.
Still sonnet lends to careful choice of word,
to force one to examine what is meant,
what in common speech can become blurred,
poetic discipline can thus prevent.
Though some say a meter can be stilted,
or the exposition be too long,
others say the voice is hereby lilted,
the brain can therefor hear it like a song.
And so when forced into this by compulsion,
I think a point's been proved in it's completion.

05/15/2015

Author's Note: My apologies for a poem on poems, but the parts seemed more significant in sum.

Posted on 05/15/2015
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