Um, I blamed it on having read my friend's dark piece.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXCVI)
Likeas a small child standing naked thence
Within the charred bits of a doorway, frail
As lo, thin wisps of smoke 'non drifting, pale
And silent twards grey heavns, where no voice hence
Replies but tis the shrieking call fr'intents
Of nary hawk nor gull, but whom avail
Them of burnt wreckage--lost upon that scale
Wi' but a des'late wilderness 'fore, whence?
They talk of some "new start." I laugh in tour,
Yea, smile as if I'm ver'ly happy too,
Can fool myself like such is true, yet's poor.
I'm that wee child left 'fore this desert view,
Pretending all's sae fine as Death stalks fer
All that whate'er I'd cherished. And what's new?
20Apr19b
-
Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 1st, 2024 13:09
- Comment from author about the poem: Come, come, were ye really so surprised? THIS is my reality.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Teddy.15, AuburnScribbler
Offline)
Comments4
This is a haunting read, set in classical form even the wording takes on that effect. This is far deeper than the surface with feelings that seem almost primal. A wonderful read brilliant
Thank you very much! I have too much fun, frankly, rereading my own work and am all the more thankful when others enjoy it likewise.
What a deep,
dark and evocative
poem you've penned!! 😳
A sCARy good read
from beginning to end! 😰
Skillfully expressed poetess! 💯
Best wishes 🍀 🌹. Thad
Why on earth your comment makes me choke on a giggle, I do not know. Thank you for your kind comment!
Amazing, and isn't it funny that we can simply make ourselves believe everything is sweet? Oh wow you make the Sonnet look so easy, beautifully crafted and perfectly rhymed. 🌹
Aww, thank you so VERY much! You're too kind. The form itself is forever a challenge, and I do love challenges. There's a very good reason I avoid penning the other forms as a rule and pen sonnets once daily; the challenge becomes more insurmountable the distance you put between it and yourself. Otherwise you let the thoughts fly and merely pour them into the gilded cage (as Wordsworth aptly termed it). There are easy days and impossible days. And if the thought chokes on itself, you let it be. It will figure itself out, but not like you thought. But I talk too much. Thank you again.
I've written one Italian Sonnet and it took 3 years and a lot of blood and sweat lol 🌹
That's the one you call your first. And if you want to chase it again, keep on, or else give up. I took a month to churn out my first and it was such work I threw in the towel until reading sonnets with my coffee finally stirred in me the desire to follow suit.
Besides, where's your sonnet? I tried to locate it and found other pretty pieces before I gave up... but never the thing itself.
It's called it is I who loves thee more than the sun probably on one of the last pages 🌹
Okay! Thank you, thank you!!!
Thank you so much, hey I did try to put the link so you didn't have to search but I am a woman same age as you with no patients for technology 🤣 it's a miracle I'm even here. 🌹
Wicked, but wonderfully macabre, and abyssally emotive here Cheeky Missy.
I thank both you for sharing, and your friend's dark piece for inspiring it.
Well worth a favouriting, bravo, and I hope that all is well.
Thank you so, so VERY much, my dear chap.
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