Well, this is my first attempt at writing a sonnet. Unfortunately it forced me to focus perhaps too much about rhyme and iambic pentameter, so I'm not sure if it's as good as it could be, but I don't want to make matters worse by further editing it.
‘Tis often hard to strike a careful change
Between the ordered facts and lines I crave
And beauty which resides in art’s dear range
Of colour, song and written words which save
From but existing, just to simply be.
A life without the chance to really live:
Too focused on statistics for to see
The soul-inspiring love which arts can give.
Perhaps we all need something we can love
Instead of logic which we all desire.
We must desist from placing fact above
The purity which sets the soul on fire.
That purity exists in only art
And music which will captivate the heart.