My eyes open to the dark
Here I am again
Unaware of the state that my mind is in
At peace and protected never hurt so much
I've a sky-splitting ache to feel your touch
I don't know a thing about the things I do not know
I don't want to hear about the places I could go
Send me letters, send me sonnets, send me cold-hard-cash
Anything to ease the burning from this fiery crash
Walk me down to the lake with your face to my ear
And tell me everything you do not think I want to hear
I'm really not brave
I'm really not brave
I'm really not brave, no
Blushing by the way you say otherwise
I'll slip a secret into your most heavenly eyes:
I've a sickening fear of never being complete
And having everything I do dissolve away in retreat
Switching roles, taking turns, and playing to win,
It would be far more tragic to never even begin
Maybe the most of you is hiding in the sun
And it's you that's shining down over everyone
You don't budge while the earth rotates into night
And I remember how I never will deserve your light
"Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary."
-- Kahlil Gibran
Showing posts with label sonnet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sonnet. Show all posts
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Timeless Heart
A sonnet
When young, they knew the word as something else
As times change, though, I know so do the words
Like water to ice, love becomes solid
A supernatural grip on the youth
The sun sets on romance hopelessly now
Love is not as solid as we had thought
Deep beneath the surface was a sliver
Of deceit that would not be recognized
Until much later when it hurt much more
Except, to them it was a quiet game
A symphony that declared honest love
An explosion of the eternal heart
Which, mind you, was fragile to begin with
Now old, they know the word as something else.
When young, they knew the word as something else
As times change, though, I know so do the words
Like water to ice, love becomes solid
A supernatural grip on the youth
The sun sets on romance hopelessly now
Love is not as solid as we had thought
Deep beneath the surface was a sliver
Of deceit that would not be recognized
Until much later when it hurt much more
Except, to them it was a quiet game
A symphony that declared honest love
An explosion of the eternal heart
Which, mind you, was fragile to begin with
Now old, they know the word as something else.
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