You'Re No Shakespeare
With pastel shades of rose, yellow and peach,
a poet paints with his words, a sunrise
until the voice of a muse starts to preach,
"Observe it from my more creative eyes."
Suggestions planted; seeds of doubt were sown
for the proper hues of a sandy shore.
Foiled poet versus a Muse on her throne.
Balls of crumpled pages, flung to the floor.
Her clicking tongue whispers in the poet's ear,
destroying thoughts he had captured in rhyme.
"I see I've work to do. You're no Shakespeare."
Each line scribed, a ladder's rung worth the climb.
Sonnet penned with an infusion of spice
when a muse beggars to proffer advice.
August 22, 2020
Pareidolia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Copyright © Jenna Logan | Year Posted 2020
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