So, things for me not going well. I've got some serious money problems and those who I thought I could count on don't seem to be there. I'm sure I'll survive, but it's going to be damn uncomfortable for a while. Another problem is that I haven't been getting enough sleep, so my mood is doubly troubled. So, you should expect some morose poetry today. As they say though, art from adversity.
Wheel of Genres, turn, turn, turn! Tell me the genre I will discern!
Today's style is... Quatrain.
Well, I've done quatrains before so this shouldn't be too hard. I thought about doing a four stanza quatrain, but I know I have a problem with word limits, so it would probably be more challenging for me to write a simple quatrain. So, let's do that.
Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go.
Behold a man undone by his Desire
Now Enemy to his greatest Passions;
For him the nearest Hour is the most dire,
And he implores Holiest Compassion.
***
Stop the clock. 17:59 left. That actually took longer than I thought it would. I tried to fit everything iambic pentameter which was a challenge unto itself, and then one or two of the lines just didn't sound right. But still, a decent poem in less than 15 minutes. That poetry book is looking like a better idea every minute.
Keep writing, my friends.
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