A sonnet by Paul “Whitberg” Burgess [I admit that this sonnet is odd by even my own bizarre standards]…
The sections orchestrated sound divine
…until the puzzle’s pieces are combined.
The ore came freely from the Muses’ mine
But now opposes being well-refined
To match its twin enough in tonal hue
For ears to think they make a handsome pair
(Instead of thinking, “Someone missed his cue
And played a measure not belonging there”).
Perhaps a demon doesn’t like me very well
And has decided it’s his evil mission
(Before returning to the fiery pits of Hell)
To see I never find a good transition.
In music, poetry, and also life,
It’s hard to make what’s sep’rate man and wife.
Thank you! As always, I appreciate that you took the time to read and comment:)