Metasonnet

So here I am, a pen within my clasp,

The sonnet’s skeleton behind my eyes;

Countless dancing words evade my grasp

Exposing all my weak attempts for lies.

One cannot help but wonder how it’s done…

…The artfully sadistic trial of this-

Are those who try and fail simply shunned?

Are those who tame its verse destined for bliss?

As rhymes and rhymes again elude my sight

I feel the sonnet’s prison closing in,

My inky soldier has no will to fight;

Fourteen iambic locks trap me within.

I warn you now, and I’m just being kind:

Do not try a sonnet; you’ll lose your mind.