This is the tune I am working into this sonnet:
Remember when we said we would be gods?
Remember when we learned what gods we were?
Our memories are such divine facades
They’re plaster words to which our souls demur
The things we said became forgotten tripe
As things we tried to do became mere words
The gods we were could only grouse or snipe
We couldn’t even fly like little birds
Omnipotence was poetry we read
But when we tried to write, our pencils broke
Our graphite souls were brittle, pencil lead
And when we’d try to sing, we’d only choke
Let’s learn to write with just a mortal pen
And be content with being simple men.