Fry Cook By Day, Philosopher By Night

An English (Shakespearean) sonnet about a kid getting home from work and relaxing...erm, in his own way. :)

Been quite the day, unusually rough. 

I race to my place, no one in my way. 

Get to my room, plop down, and puff. 

Instantly relaxed, thank God for fri-day. 

How can something so good, be so damn bad? 

I don't care what it does, it opens my mind. 

Will my parents accept I'm not "honor roll" Chad?

I dig deep in my thoughts, express words hard to find.

Lyrical matter colliding in space.

The dead are living, and the living are dead.

The day we combine into one know race.

Marvelous fantasies expanding my head.

Exhale a wisp and set a song on re-play. 

Chill to my tunes and zone out til Mon-day. 

Author's Note

This is a sonnet that I wrote for class a while ago. Actually, I took what I had (it was horrible) and turned it into this (something NOT so horrible. haha).

Let me know your comments, thoughts...I hope it all makes sense. Most of all, I wanted it to flow easily, so that people could read and enjoy it. This would explain the "re-play" and "Mon-day." I ultimately chose to stick with the hyphen.

Hope you enjoy it.

Reviews

[JayEmBee]

I found it interesting. I know people who completely agree with you and feel just that way from day to day. (;