A Sonnet On a Discord

The ringing was so piercing and incessant from way outside the house I heard its blare. I ran into my room; my clock flourescent, that object of offense, sat clanging there. But when its button “off” I firmly pressed, I hadn’t done a thing to stop the sound. I then perceived there must have been some jest. Oh, where could all the clamor’s source be found? I sought my plague with mounting discontent, and every room I managed soon to rake. It taunted me; such shrillness was a torment. And suddenly, I found myself awake! Subconsciously my rising I had fought and put the ringing in my own dream’s plot. (This is a true story of how I kept myself from waking to my dang ding-a-ling alarm clock) For Paula Swanson's Ding-a-Ling Contest