I really can't be bothered with acrostics,
For I have not the patience for such things --
You may have won your place among the gnostics,
Oh sonnetary saint -- here, have your wings,
Unless you'd rather wallow in the mud,
Despite your lofty leanings to the meter;
A place exists, though you may pay in blood,
Resisting exhortations from Saint Peter.
Existence in this plane of foot and ictus
Tips worlds into a bouillabaisse of rhyme
On golden plates, poesie benedictus;
The taste is rare, both vulgar and sublime.
Ride dragons if you must, but bring your pen --
You'll never get a chance like this again.
For I have not the patience for such things --
You may have won your place among the gnostics,
Oh sonnetary saint -- here, have your wings,
Unless you'd rather wallow in the mud,
Despite your lofty leanings to the meter;
A place exists, though you may pay in blood,
Resisting exhortations from Saint Peter.
Existence in this plane of foot and ictus
Tips worlds into a bouillabaisse of rhyme
On golden plates, poesie benedictus;
The taste is rare, both vulgar and sublime.
Ride dragons if you must, but bring your pen --
You'll never get a chance like this again.
It could be worse