VIVA LA SONNET
What is the point of choosing to conform
To the strict pattern of a sonnet’s shape,
Adhering to this arbitrary norm,
Which you might very easily escape?
Be free of measurement and formula,
Or set your own unique parameters—
No more de-DA, de-DA, de-DA, de-DA—
Be done with such an arbitrary curse.
But then, out goes the baby with the bath;
The genie in the bottle will have fled;
You will no longer tread a steady path
Or feel yourself mysteriously led.
Ironically, there’s freedom in this form:
It is not dead—it’s breathing and it’s warm.