Just thought it was time to get rid of my previous, depressing entry.

So here's a little sonnet I wrote today; though far from optimistic, it's still something. Might post it as a deviation sometime soon. Bonus points for locating quotes and references. Apologies for the excessive alliteration and assonance, I'm still working on those skills relatively intensely.

Sonnet LXII: Filial Faith

I shall end like my father, there’s no doubt:
all tell I lack the touch for ivory;
earth’s springs fail cultivating that proud sprout
of music running through my pedigree.
Nor any pedagogy to contend
shall straighten slants to fluency, but frown;
nor zeal or might or piety would tend
a rope-throw as between the staves I drown –
Nor you who claimed a prodigy within.
What’s starving talent with no fruits to prove?
or pomp of power when I am cursed by kin
and cannot bend with movers to be moved?
My father played piano with a grunt;
in filial faith, my fingers are all blunt.

Yes, Ed, I'm sorry; this is an English sonnet. Though I did move the volta to line 10 for variety...