#Sonnets. Lucien Young

while my heart doth linger on the shelf,

      Thou hast beguiled my darling of her own,

      Thou rapper rapt in nothing but thyself!

      Thou art a knavish braggart, and thy verse

      Time’s with’ring hand shall rightfully diminish.

      I tailored swift these lines thy name to curse

      And, having more, I pray thou let’st me finish!

      But why? Such barren words avail me naught

      And vengeful verse my sorrow scarce appeases;

      My love, alas, is now by Yeezy taught

      And pledges her immortal soul to Yeezus.

      For, like a setting sun, my Kim hath blest

      With golden light the undeserving West.

      5.

      These sonnets jest, dear K, for well I grasp

      That this, my love, shall not returnèd be.

      In dreams alone I shall thy backside clasp;

      I know thee from, not in, reality.

      Thou art a creature far beyond my aim,

      Yet still it pains me when each day I glance

      At websites that thine exploits doth proclaim

      And magazines that bear thy countenance.

      But one sweet notion keeps me from despair:

      ’Tis for thine image, not thyself, I fell,

      Thine image, which endureth everywhere

      And never shall my yearning eyes repel!

      While I love this, thine all-pervading double,

      No earthly hindrance may my loving trouble.

      DARTH VADER

      Thou art of villains paramount, my lord:

      A black and gasping emblem of thy kind.

      Thine is the helmet, cape and laser sword.

      Thou chokest henchmen merely with thy mind!

      Thou wert of thy limbs pruned, poor Anakin,

      On Mustafar, then hurled in hellish lava,

      Yet still thou send’st the rebels panicking.

      I would be proud to say thou wert my father!

      And though unyielding death may dim thy star

      In cruel defiance of thy Dark Side might,

      By this fair stanza, thou preservèd are

      As though encased in frozen carbonite.

      Dread Sith, I pray that thou, of voice unnerving,

      Shalt never find my lack of faith disturbing.

      EMINEM

      How shall I marshal fourteen lines to tell

      Thee what, in teenage years, thy dope rhymes meant?

      No other rapper in thy bourn may dwell,

      For, Eminem, thou art preeminent!

      I learned thy LPs’ sickest flows by heart,

      Then did, in hope to more adore thee, delve

      Into thy diss tracks’ cruel, exquisite art

      And thy collaborations with D12.

      But as I aged, so came I to revile

      The homophobic slurs that thou wouldst level

      And winced to think the Shakespeare of 8 Mile

      Misogynist — a pinched, peroxide devil!

      Yet still will I, for all my earthly span,

      On thee obsess as though my name were Stan.

      WALTER WHITE

      O Heisenberg, did not that shaven head

      Contain the thought thy wicked deeds could scar thee?

      Thou should’st have taught thy chemistry instead

      Of cooking crystal in some antique RV.

      But no, thou wouldst be Albuquerque’s king,

      Thine empire built on meth heads and thy madness,

      Face off ’gainst Tuco and Gustavo Fring

      And bring thy boring family naught but sadness.

      Thou in the desert stood’st, thy pants near soiled,

      Thou didst, for seasons six, earn our reproof.

      Now, Ozymandias, all thy works lie spoiled,

      Like to a pizza hurlèd on the roof.

      Thy barrelled cash could not thy soul enrich:

      Such were the limits of thy science, bitch!

      BEYONCÉ

      Queen B, thy honeyed tones and sweet melisma

      Doth slay such other loves as I have faced.

      Thou mad’st me swoon with thy onstage charisma

      And laugh with joy when thou Goldmember graced.

      Thou chartest thy career in steps judicious,

      Thy beauty could defeat the wit of Shelley.

      Whene’er I see thy body bootylicious

      I think myself unready for this jelly.

      But pray do not pretend thou lovest Jay-Z

      When all the watching world can sense the rift.

      Say not thou stand’st by — and the thought dismays me —

      The churl thy sister twatted in a lift!

      Take thou my heart, or else thou hast beguiled

      The world of love, and of our destined child.

      PIKACHU

      Good friend, thou see’st this lonely seeker through

      His long travails, his quest to catch them all

      And I am blessed that thou, dear Pikachu,

      Dost rest in my unworthy Poké Ball.

      I love thy spotted cheeks and bolt-like tail;

      With thine electric form I have no gripe,

      For thy aggressions proveth, without fail,

      Super effective ’gainst all Water type.

      And though some trainers may of Mewtwo boast,

      Or hold their Venusaur in high regard,

      I would not trade thee for a Gyarados,

      A Dragonite, or shiny Charizard.

      Why should I yearn for some dull Jolteon?

      Thou art the paragon of Pokémon.

      BINGEING

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