Forced Iambic Pentameter

Folder: 
2002

Opression in the most minute of ways

Small tickings are what irritates me most

Like Shakespeare I could pen sweet notes to you

Enchained my creativity must plea

Why shall I feel the itching of restraint

So bourne of shakles I not need endure

Will come a ramble of such stifled words

Cruel sight upon your structured little world

I detest the enslavement of pupils

When we disect "the classic" (boring) works

Or via symbols create false reason

And why can't we have free-range of tasking

Such small a realm of options for mine ink

What can we do to face the crushing foe

My voice in unrestraint- "no course outlines!"








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