I'm not a poet by any stretch of the imagination. But I'm studying Shakespeare, and decided to try my hand at a sonnet (excepting that is has a different theme and the whole beats per line concept escapes me):
Where does all my time go?
Time, the treasure, from which life is made
The elusive substance that none can know
That trips along and none can evade
What have I squandered it upon?
Unknowingly, uncaringly, later to repay
No matter where I look it's gone
And never can I regain this day
Who have I gifted it to?
Ignorant of its eternal worth
Thinking the hours would themselves renew
Careless in my actions, wasted it for mirth
So guard jealously the time belonging to you
Lest you regret the precious hours you once knew
Now you know why I don't write poems!
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