Sonnet- I Poem by Sherwin Ilagan

Your heart was forc'd to choose without its beat
'Twas for the wealthiest lone gentleman—
Who offer'd all his gold, his throne and seat
To you as time foretold his will and plan,
Not all the marbles in the world are true
In their delight...there is unworthy one.
O never is the squire the man to view—
Up there! ‘pon pedestal; you love no one.
And for the poet who has won your heart?
His treasure lies upon his skill and thought,
Within his quill your beauty came as part—
Of metaphor, you felt and then you sought.
It is your death without his written verse,
As ink might spill an ill you can't disperse.