In Fact, You Can

In high school, my English teacher gave us a writing assignment.  We were to write our own sonnet, in perfect iambic pentameter.  Being the little snot that I was, and as much as I loved this teacher, I balked at the idea of my creativity being limited by such antiquated requirements.  I chose not to turn in the assignment.  But Mr. Tordoff pressed me, encouraged me, and challenged me to try. What came out of the assignment is to this day, over 25 years later, one of the works I am most proud of. Because as it turns out, I could in fact write a beautiful poem in 14 lines, in a certain rhythm, with a specific rhyme. I learned something about myself, which at that age is really the best lesson. 

Wrought

Alone she sat in lustrous chamber room

Confined by memories, melted bygone days

She: blinded from a thick tenacious haze

Cursed fruitless Cupid for her ceaseless gloom

Above her head a somber cloud did loom

She contemplated love’s last glory blaze

And why she can’t go back to yesterdays

To watch the roses’ crimson petals bloom

She fondles garnet earrings in her ear

The russet blood stones glisten, glimmer, glint

They’re reminders that she once fell in love

And miracles, perfect fall from above

She wonders if her God might get the hint

To send her back her Valentine so dear