Yes, I know this is late…. Anyways, I’ve been working on this sonnet for a while now, and it’s not going particularly well. Also, I gave up on the iambic-ness a while ago….
There is a point in night when all time seems to halt.
Everything seems so still, but the earth still spins
sun still rises, welcomed with scrambled eggs and salt.
(Salt with scrambled eggs to be further from a sin.)
Breakfast seems random and is almost wrong to me
Almost as wrong as that sun rising in the sky
However beautiful it may be to see
sleep deprived me lets it pass with only a sigh.
Mind shut down long ago; coffee is not a cure.
and so, that’s all I got so far….