So never one to be satisfied by one mere sonnet on a given subject, I’ve had a think and developed part 2 of ‘The Rapper’, which I call: ‘The Rhymer’.
Slightly broader in scope, a true sonnet that, I hope, will stand up to rigorous inspection. I think Keats would have liked this one. I might complete the triplet with a final sonnet called ‘The Writer’. Watch this space–> __________________
Each word a brick, cemented in the flow.
Their perfect place defined by he who rhymes
In perfect pitch: he takes his aim and throws.
His target never missed in any line.
With no design, cathedral walls he builds
And calls for us to wonder at the shrine
He crafts with ever-climbing feats of skill,
Imprisoning his limits in the rhyme.
Construction stalls. And we are left with awe:
An echo of the thing that has been made.
But, with creation currently on pause,
The power of the architect will fade…
Though rhymer’s rhymes will stand the test of time,
The rhymer’s rhyming witnessed is sublime.