As boredom swallows each of my parts whole,
with every one goes a slice of joyful time.
To me will come a trepidation bowl,
which transforms into soreness I rhyme.
This poem seems to relish misery
that I do not appreciate greatly.
It drills and grinds away at patience’s teeth
alike an overpaid dentist stately.
The unskilled hygienist throws up her tools,
because the very poem is persistent
like a tenacious patient with strict rules
to whom floss is extremely resistant.
This sonnet, while providing me with grief,
becomes a fight of pain, with no relief.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
As boredom swallows each of my parts whole,
with every one goes a slice of joyful time.
To me will come a trepidation bowl,
which transforms into soreness I rhyme.
This poem seems to relish misery
that I do not appreciate greatly.
It drills and grinds away at patience’s teeth
alike an overpaid dentist stately.
The unskilled hygienist throws up her tools,
because the very poem is persistent
like a tenacious patient with strict rules
to whom floss is extremely resistant.
This sonnet, while providing me with grief,
becomes a fight of pain, with no relief.
