Now with this story's unique form in mind
I'll return to the issue I now face
Two ghosts of times gone by do haunt my place
And sleep is one relief I cannot find
These misty men appeared to me and cried
Awaking me in showers of disgrace
They said I owe a debt and have a case
And to the full extent I will be tried
A dream this is I thought it has to be
Will Shakespeare and Petrarch are truly dead
Yet here they are intimidating me
"We hear thine thoughts, young sir, just as if said"
Said Petrarch with a hint of snobbery
"Pray, hear ours clear so thee shan't be misled"
Then Shakespeare pulled a parchment from his breast
And reading glasses next adorned his nose
He cleared his throat and started to express
The many royalties I must dispose
"Young messenger, the poet, you are charged
With labeling your works as like our fruits
Even this double now bears no regard
A sonnet it is not, we do dispute
This double now he says what does he mean?
Is this event transcribed inside my mind?
Or in the future penned and shared by me?
They stare now as I scramble fast to find
The right reply: "Dear sirs, I must request
A moment to collect my best defense"
YOU ARE READING
Sort-of Sonnets: A Poet in Debt
PoetryA collection of poems inspired by the sonnet scheme, but not confined by it, exploring a story of a messenger (poet) in debt and desperate for options. Who is he indebted to? Only two of the most famous poets in history (who also happen to be dead...
