This is a Petrarchan sonnet. This is different than the others because the rhyming that usually goes at the end is concealed within the middle of the line.
Buried deep deep down,
Underneath that mine.
I can hear that thing below,
Hear it creep creep around.
Out through the cracks seep its quiet growls,
Like a cat who's waiting to be fed.
And for all the rats it snacks on,
I weep for them.
It's been here for years and only we know,
It grows bigger every single day.
We always say that it will die,
But in fear we constantly live.
We know and it's killing us,
Just walk away, we can't do anything.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryMy creative writing course has given me a soft spot for poetry. So here are some of mine.
