C Richard Miles
The sonnet’s form constrains the poet’s hand
From setting out his feelings loud and clear;
It makes his intimations hard to hear
And forces him to choose the safe and bland.
The sonnet’s rhyme restrains the poet’s thought
From flying into fantasy and space,
Though it contains more elegance and grace
Where free verse liberates what has been caught.
But in the sonnet, deeper meanings lie
And hold traditions, ancient and arcane,
That hibernate inside the poet’s brain
And soon he will discover, by and by,
Encapsulated in the sonnet’s shell
Awaits to hatch pure heaven from pure hell.
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