Hello World

I find that I can write whatever here:
My words will never find the light of day
Since nobody reads sonnets anyway
My freedom is now comfortingly clear.
I can write nonsense, folderol, or queer
Misshapen things formed from my verbal clay
That crack in firing. Metaphors can stray;
It doesn't matter where they choose to veer.
Unedited, my words evaporate
And by their residue I know them pure
They leave no mark behind to indicate
I ever wrote them. And yet I am sure
Deep in my soul, their echoes resonate
In empty chambers where my heartstrings stir.