A entry for the Writer's Cramp 12-16-2016
The roadie knew well the concert halls here
Electric guitars of late sounded great
Few knew the hardships of a life so near
The singers whose lives he had come to hate.
As a roadie he worked hard every day
He worked for crumbs off the master’s table
The boss seemed to like it to be that way
He would roll the bones of help if able.
Then one dark night it magically appeared
His chance to escape this life of misery
At last he was no longer an object
At last he would be alone and set free.
Dreams come true when we work for them enough
Life is unfair so we must then be tough.
Line count 14
word count 117
Format English Sonnet in iambic pentameter