To myself

A poem about life through the beginning middle and end of one. Inspired by Keats and in a sonnet form in iambic pentameter.

Sweet melodious voices hark,

and thunder in my ear,
oh Apollo it is loud enough to hear,
and of which I want to greet.
It should be known to all,
to gods to kings,
that time passes far too fast,
and fashions futility to the efforts we bring.
The dim, the dark, the bold
the indolence of life
The repose, in which the mind is sold
Be now sick be now old
all because I did just as I was told.