On the fourth day of National Poetry Month, I write a little poem with my least favorite pattern: rhyming. I suspect I know why I struggle with rhyming, I don't sub-vocalize when I read. In other words, I don't sound out names or places as I got but “parse” them as symbols. If you ever talk to me, you'll hear it because I mispronounce a lot of words, even ones I don't know.

It also means I have a remarkably difficult time starting to talk. Though, as coworkers will tell you, once I get going, I don't shut up. It's like one of those big engines winding up.

When I'm surprise or not ready, I don't always respond with words. Sign language? That comes faster and that gets used instead of speaking. I fumbled my wedding vows partially for the same reason because I forgot how to speak (and I was thinking about a scene from Hackers when I was supposed to be listening).

Regardless, this was one of my first sonnets in a long time.

Sand Bites Hard Now

No matter what I see across the sand,
From dunes to rocks to cloudless sky above me,
The bright sun burns my vision like a brand
And reminds me that I'm a refugee.

My blameless guilt gnaws as a thousand bites.
Blood on hands and a shadow overhead.
I didn't think there would be constant lights.
I would rather be somewhere else instead.

This new life is going to be so damned hard.
I didn't have time to make this poor choice.
And now my life is nothing but a shard.
I'm going to scream until I lose my voice.

I don't have a choice anymore, do I now?
Not if I don't want to break my new vow.