Iambic beats can cloak a treachery,
by belting out a song of smoothest lilt
so ev'ry heartfelt-spoke soliloquy
becomes unthinking dances aptly built

and so the mind arrests the deeper dreams
in favour of the motion of the tongue
that twists around the form to find no seams
and sighs unto the peers it swims among.

Until a perfect sonnet takes the day
with both a rhythm and a wile to air,
reflecting human nature and the way
a word can spin and sashay debonaire.

For meter's only King if art is Queen,
and free's the verse combining them unseen.