|My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)|
|by William Shakespeare|
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Creation is akin to giving birth;
both cause you pain, but in a worthy way.
While rhyme schemes are the furthest thing from mirth,
if done correctly, they carry the day.
What words to choose? What subject will be right?
These questions come to mind upon the start.
If I am still, an idea will alight
my mind, or if not that, then in my heart.
Would you believe my favorite is free verse?
I feel that my ideas are not constrained.
Sometimes I view strict formats as a curse,
but I did see improvements as I trained.
Regardless of my struggles, yet I type,
and pick the fruit my mind determines ripe.