Artisanal Love

I mold the heart with these two hands,
’til love is fit for a Valentine’s cake:
almost too sweet to bite into
almost too perfect to cover and bake
but I’ve worked too hard to just forsake
this labor I have longed to do
so I finish what I’ve started here
in the hopes I can have – and eat – it too
but the cost, I’m afraid, comes now too dear
Perfection spoils the True and Real
now hindsight makes it all too clear:
needs sours and bitters in order to feel.
I gave in to daydream’s demands:
I mold the heart with these two hands.

While I’ve never felt much kinship with tight-form poetry, I will say that it’s kinda fun to play with it. So, that’s a sonnet there, but not in any recognizable form I’ve ever heard of (if they name it after me, call it a Rumfishian Sonnet ^_~). Pretty irregular rhyme scheme, eh?

A, with the first line being the last line.

Yeah, it bears a resemblance to other forms, and it’s probably just clumsy, and for all I know this is already a style of sonnet, but this is a journal after all. Any time I start to feel too silly or pretentious or blasphemous I can just remind myself that it was never supposed to be submitted to a magazine or turned in for class. Ludicrosity reigns as I make up new words and new sonnet archetypes, and it’s all mostly for fun. There may be nothing new under the sun, and it all may be in tune, but as the Pink Floyd fans recall, the sun ‘s eclipsed by the moon. =)


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