Sonnet 1

Us poets need come again and again.

Stick brooms in hand we sweep

the dirt that gathers when

we live a dream as we sleep.

A rogue wave on a calm sea

we say the same thing, time and time again;

stand before us fearless and be free

if not, away with you who’d dare pretend!

The clock ticks and we dance its demands.

Round and round, we embrace and go

little sparks obeying life’s light commands

until the music stops and we know

our story is over and never will be told.

Only for us poets in rage

to compress it all to gold.

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