6 March 2013
This is a sonnet I wrote for one of my classes. It lacks the iambic pentameter though.
The lives of we mortals are measured in time The merciless meter of our human race. With tick-tocking fingers, it beats out a rhyme The toe-tapping tempo that sets our live's pace. . . . Both feasting and fasting are flavoured the same To the hands and the face of the heartbeat king. With no care for virtue, creed, money, or name Time deals out the days that we have left to sing. . . . Our prayers to the god on our walls and our wrists Each hour and minute a pledge to our lord. Lips curled in curses, we bless with a kiss The man-made monster that we all have adored. . . . Time holds in it's sway all the children of earth Yet it's only through us that Time finds it's worth.
To Time • Opuss № I