O' Poetry, That Wick'd Fiend

O' Poetry, That Wick'd Fiend

How is it that I cannot write poetry?
Words have always come with ease to my pen,
Yet, it seems, this task is too great for me.
How shall I ever manage to begin?

Shall I let my ink flow with flow'ry prose?
Shall I force out tales of loves won and lost?
Shall I compare "thee" to a snaking rose?
Shall I lament the effort this has cost?

But, perhaps, when it is all said and done,
Things are not quite as bad as they now seem.
I do so freely let my complaints run,
And poetry must have some good qualities.

Somehow, through my journey, this has grown clear:
My true hate is for the style of Shakespeare.

~Tobi
~I was coerced into writing a Shakespearean sonnet. This is the mess that happened.