Thoughts grow heavy,
Twisted by the prostitution of your vowels:
A dime for an 'o' a penny for an 'e',
And the price of your soul?
It's worthless, now.
You have broken the cadence of meter
And iambs, stressed and unstressed alike
Drift away. The old you was sweeter
Carefully measured, each syllable laden
With beauty and grace.
Have you enjoyed this desecration,
The slaying of mother tongue,
The ravishment of metaphor?
You, the English language, have become a whore.