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A sonnet


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Posted (edited)

So ignoring the pretentiousness of writing a sonnet for a moment... this is something I enjoyed writing. 5 whole completely arbitrary and meaningless points to whoever can tell me what it's actually about.


You lay there, scornful, blank, bare, mocking me.

My pen is limp, impotent in my hand.

The ink has dried up, no spurt, no flow and

In vain. Unavailing virginity.

Unable to express, to plant my seed, 

To plough your fertile, fruitful, fields fecund.

The yearning urge to fulfil that unplumbed

Potential still provides no progeny.

No ease or release, each futile effort

Teased, tormented, tantalised, and tortured.

Desire is disdained, deplored and ignored.

The will, the want wracked, without the reward.

When will this locked block relent and relax?

Allowed to achieve, accomplish climax.

Edited by DeviantInside

Whoops. I, uhm...I could pretend I got it wrong so that it doesn't ruin it for....oh..wait..never mind. 


You can send the points to Hufflepuff. Thanks 😁 


Maybe you should be. I mean, I did get those five you were giving away, pretty quickly. 

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