Sonnet: Guide to the 19th
By Gary Allen
An envy of those past who lived by the pen—
Like Dickens and the Dumas always writing,
Whose weekly published feuilletons kept inciting
Further flights of verbiage when thoughts grew thin—
Those are the constant writers whose skills could bend
Their words this way or that to suit the plot,
The roman fleuve where nothing was forgot,
The ending seen as soon as they begin.
Is it their sense of purpose that made them fluent?
Was it an innate drive that made them build
Imaginary cities with roofs of lead,
Or did industrial tumult weld congruent
Their busy lives with passions that still yield
Desire and will to plunder what’s long dead?