Sonnet VII

Sonnet VII

There’s an expectation of a writer

That even in her weakness she be strong.

That her darkness will somehow be lighter

And her musings won’t take so very long.

I know that you expect optimism

And a truth that won’t break your tiny bank.

My insight won’t be a solipcism

And I am not trying your chain to yank.

Now this part of the Sonnet must unveil

The opposite of all I’ve said above

Without biting it’s own fictional tail

And convince readers that it’s meant with love.

And somehow make you think I have a point

That will open our eyes and rise above

Some rapping G girl’s sad-assed busted joint.

So it is with relief we limp to the end

bend fend lend mend pend send tend vend  and wend!