I’m Still a Sonnet

I’m still a sonnet, but I guess I’m new
I follow the same scheme, with different words
Perhaps I am a sequence, overdue
Perhaps I come in halves, or maybe thirds
Three quatrains make the sonnet I become
The past, the present, future, but there’s more
A final couplet that’s ignored by some
Like drunks that walk right past an easy whore
But love I want to make is more than rhyme
It’s more than just the rhythmic words I use
This second life is certainly sublime
I live within sonnettic lines I choose
I’m more than just some fucking, little song
But like my words need music, I belong.

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