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A Shakespearean, or English, sonnet consists of 14 lines, each line containing ten syllables and written in iambic pentameter, in which a pattern of an unemphasized syllable followed by an emphasized syllable is repeated five times. The rhyme scheme in a Shakespearean sonnet is a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g; the last two lines are a rhyming couplet.
For historical accuracy, you should go with "break" a wild mare.
"Break" is harsh for the tone i am trying to achieve.
"Break" is harsh for the tone i am trying to achieve.I know; it was a joke. ~_^
That Night,The smile in your eyes danced Almost as much as the embers from our two cigarettes.And I *knew* because of your sarcastic grin your insatiable wanderlust (and yes, maybe the way your chest was heaving as we spoke for an eternity in the cold)That you were probably someone special. But I knew because I had just met you because I was nervous and self-conscious (and yeah, maybe because I was more than a little drunk)That I couldn't (shouldn't?) kiss youOr *even* ask you out.But the morning afterHungoverVomiting I realized it was just another wasted opportunityLike so many others.
EDIT: Been futzing over this poem for an hour or two now. Not sure if I can fix it, but I'm pretty dissatisfied.
The breeze sweeps the jittering leavesWhile the sun makes it's daylightClouds the size of skyscrapers slip southWithout a single soundWithout regard to our hardened heartsThe artfully uncaring universe continues too few things are more comforting than my relative insignificance
Tired and wet / we asked to stay - To rest our bones / and bodies feed.Generous Bard / brought us no ale;Said you were short / for sacred rite.Silver-tongued serpent, / deceitful gut-worm -You lied to men / who meant no ill!Played Loki's game / to gain king's favor.You have played a bad trick on us.
Odin, All-FatherOpen up our eyes.Tell us of Bard's blessing;Tell us what his heart hides.Run quick, ale of ravens;Reveal the ox-tale.Show us the serpent's secret;Show us his gilded gift.
As whom came War-godhither to the land of men?A fish from the torrent of enemies swimming,A bird against troop of enemies screaming
Much have I had / of horn's bounty.Of disir-gift / drank Olvir too.Yet more drank straw / and still you pouredTill the floor was wet / with wasted gifts.Your wits have gone / - given overto malice and spite - / serpent's venom-bitepoisons his heart, / makes home into grave.
I'm feeling drunk, and the alehas left Olvir pale in the gills,I let the spray of ox-spearsfoam over my beard.Your wits have gone, inviterof showers on to shields;now the rain of the high godstarts pouring upon you.