I woke with a need to put some thoughts into a sonnet, how odd? Well, it might not be correct to traditional English iambic pentameter form (the second line especially doesn't work), but you get the idea. I Never felt the need to write a poem before.
Behind
The night brings and dawn will not take away
A memory's passion, future unmade
Cruel the master not known to his play
This vessel's innocence fashion will shade
A womb holds no comfort for marrow's youth
Peers close yet here my soul withers and why?
Nought those treasures won near these rocks truth
Neither loves found nor lost in this dry sky
Flight and thought to shining towers crystal
Haze the mind as members swallow themselves
Thud pump caught onomatopoeic pistol
Surrounded lust finds and blind eyes will delve
but sweet light I want you still, now I know
for real, you are not mine and never will
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment