The Weekly Sonnet

‘Twas born of tumult, toil, troubled times

This dreary den of literary hubris.

Disgruntled poet’s voice was wrought with rhymes

And barbs, an arrow not inclined to miss

Its target. Skewering the bard became

A grand adventure. Clever quips disguised

As metered iambs–sonnets all the same–

Deceived the academics who surmised

My penmanship sincere. So what recourse

Remains? The Weekly Sonnet’s point is through,

Its hapless victims felled without remorse,

And all experiments conducted due.

I needn’t obfuscate my thoughts again;

Sincerity hereafter guides my pen.

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