Acrostic Sonnet.
©Ron Boughton. Oct. ‘22
Relinquish thoughts of all those sonnets past
Of wordsmiths brilliance, in perfection penned,
Now I must struggle to write something classed
As fairish in the poets world to blend,
Like what I think, but then mental debate
Does then deliver not what I would choose
But something comes from inner conscious state
Oh yes, I see it now, It’s called the muse!
Undone are thoughts that may restrict the flow
Gone is direction, for the muse will greet
Hello to all, imaginations glow
There helping to achieve the poems beat,
Outclassed then are the stares, of a blank page,
Now job is done; the muse returns backstage.
