Josh Alfred (02/27/89)
Anger 4 - Sonnet
Thine boasting maketh me feel less.
Thou art proudly amused in thy speaking.
My blemishes make thou out to be best,
And I, no more, than a feeble weakling.
Satisfied is the man that can find
no reason to pathetically crow.
Miserable men do contently chide,
It be a worthless rise, arousing as gold.
From a miserable mouth spouts disdain
that not wanting to give support
causes more memorable suffering to attain,
than the due responsibilities extort.
If the faultier has learned his lesson,
Why doth poor memories give thine scorn passion?
Comments about this poem (Anger 4 - Sonnet by Josh Alfred )
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