Sonnet VIII
I am found distant from humanity
Perhaps it is too late to find the clue.
Are artists meant to be in reality
Or do we prosper furthest from the zoo?
I don’t want pity, though I use a cane.
But I’d deal with Satan to have a break
From weakness that is making me insane.
And keeping me from being full awake.
I’m wise enough to know we have no choice,
And the alternative is black nothing.
And so, I try to find my rhyming voice.
The woman in me will not find a king
My heart and mind still seem to be intact
I just won’t lay in bed to seek my fun.
It’s time to find the music my life lacked.
And even if I’m trapped inside this chair
I’ll use my words to draw you to my lair.
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