I am in grade 9, and I can write stories really well but I can not write poetry worth my life. We are studying Shakespeare, which is fascinating and I was wondering what you thought of my sonnet. Please don't say rude things about it - you don't have to like it - just be respectful about it because I know I''m not good.
The soil of the rugged moor, is evermore
And the constant pulse of nature’s vexed heart,
Causes the wind to blow afresh the skin’s shore.
While the thorns of the foliage delicately part,
Blossoming a new emotion, long waited.
It can only be felt by a tender soul,
And can see past scorn, of eyes full of hatred,
Lovers drink from the waters of bliss, dug in a hole,
And when it dries, they will thirst upon the soil.
A man’s lips were never so anguished and lost of love,
His emotion died beneath the mounds of toil.
Is life so perfect and peaceful above?
To say a good life is happiness, that is madness,
True happiness comes from a pool of sadness.
The soil of the rugged moor, is evermore
And the constant pulse of nature’s vexed heart,
Causes the wind to blow afresh the skin’s shore.
While the thorns of the foliage delicately part,
Blossoming a new emotion, long waited.
It can only be felt by a tender soul,
And can see past scorn, of eyes full of hatred,
Lovers drink from the waters of bliss, dug in a hole,
And when it dries, they will thirst upon the soil.
A man’s lips were never so anguished and lost of love,
His emotion died beneath the mounds of toil.
Is life so perfect and peaceful above?
To say a good life is happiness, that is madness,
True happiness comes from a pool of sadness.