The First Sonnet I Wrote After Receiving My 58th Rejection Letter From The New Yorker

by Bryon D. Howell
I'm stuck inside a thought and can't get out.
I wonder if that's what life really means?
It's based on pain and littered with self-doubt -
a frozen box in time of shattered dreams?
This thought will only goes so far so fast -
at times I randomly receive a clue.
It comes and goes and never seems to last -
you've heard of it, you call it deja vu.
And so, I scratch and scream inside this box -
and pray they haven't buried me alive.
I don't fear wood, I'm horrified of rocks.
A six foot upward crawl? I won't survive.
Perhaps I should accept the fact I'm trapped?
Of literary garble, I am tapped.
Bryon D. Howell is a poet currently residing in New Haven, Connecticut. He has been writing poetry for a great number of years. Recently, work of his has appeared in poeticdiversity, Red River Review and The Quirk.

© 2007, Bryon D. Howell