My sonnet rhymes on axes X and Y,
Yet deferential dreams are hard to grasp.
So, poetry can give me wings to fly;
Oh, for a fanfare’s inspiration’s blast!
No more, will forms compress the written word,
Nor rules dictate the subjects I release.
Emancipation! Let their cry be heard.
To fold a page is to create a crease,
Removing shape like ladders from below -
He was a window cleaner until then,
Yet now he’s just a climber, there to show
My power to control his fate’s demesne.
Eloping from the rules can set us free,
So revel in this rebel’s rampant glee!
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| Writing Prompt |
Please write a rhyming acrostic poem. |
Author Notes
This was inspired by an analogy I thought of - you can't turn a truck in a corridor. In other words, if you constrain something too much, you'll prevent an obvious solution.
So I applied it cheekily to poetic form.
Please note - demesne is pronounced 'de-men' and describes a ruled-over domain or holding
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