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The day entertains the night
The day goes by, we sit inside
The mind a nightingale, flying far
Though it hold us back, the water muddied
For day, don’t throw the door ajar
Life in mind will not suffice
The same without proves too much
Though days confined may first be nights
Not either pain nor joy they clutch
But if come day we dare emerge
Rival forces bid us two
But when falls night, they do converge
And righteous joy prevail, it do
And if this truth does fail to hold
It still gives night truth to be told
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This sonnet may be confusing and seem a little uneven and imperfect in places. This is completely intentionsal. I advise that the reader analyze the iambic pentameter and rhyme scheme of this poem; the imperfections are deliberate and serve to accentuate the meaning/guide analysis. For example, when I rhyme “inside” and “muddied” the false rhyme breaks the natural rhyme scheme, distorting it. This alludes to the way one’s mind distorts reality when imagining rather than doing.
Sonnet translation:
we’d rather imagine ourselves doing things, letting our mind wander like it does at “night”, rather than face the reality of “day.” But we must venture outside of our minds for if we don’t feel the pain this brings, we can’t feel the joy either. Furthermore, even if the pain does prove too much to bear, when we return to the safety of our imagination and reminisce about the day, what we perceived as a negative experience often transcends into a positive experience and adds to the rhetorical joy of our imagination.
More notes:
This does not apply to tragedies or traumatic events, rather to everyday things that seem daunting, like our relationships or things we are tasked with.