I haven't wrote in quite a while,
So I thought I'd make this song,
But it's possible I've lost my style,
And my rhyme schemes gone all wrong.

The cadence is no longer there,
And the melody's gone flat;
Iambic's left without a care,
And this poem's turned to tat.

But perhaps it doesn't matter
Just as long as I have fun;
Though my words may clunk and clatter,
I'll be happy when I'm done.

(An exercise to write a sonnet in iambic pentameter)

With heavy heart, I offer my remorse,
for I'm too tired to dance this weary eve.
The echoes of my workday's tireless chores
linger, leaving naught but fatigue's relief.

Oh, believe me, I hate to disappoint,
for the music tempts me to sway and dance.
But the hours I've toiled, each task and each point,
have drained me to a tired nudnik, perchance.

My spirit, once bright, now longs for respite,
to find solace in rest and heal my self.
Though my love for dance burns hot like cordite,
exhaustion demands I stay on the shelf.

Forgive me, my friend, tonight I must rest,
but once refreshed, we’ll fete and dance with zest.

"So how much will the rental be?", he hollers.
"A thrifty fee of fifty three green dollars."

Once I dreamt of a world so grand,
I reached to hold it in my hand,
But it fell away like pale sand.

If love were flight then I’d stay perched
Perhaps for fear of falling but
To see it all, I’d watch atop
Up twenty stories, far enough

Observed, and learned, but never felt
That freedom comes with many doubts
And I, for one, will not go out  
Much further than my steady perch

They say the sun shines bright
Beyond the hills of night.

Perhaps one day I might
See this beautiful light.

For now my days are dark
My dreams are nightmares wrought.

The world's small eyes bare down like heavy gold,
On whomsoever seeks their glazed dim gaze.