Category — Sonnet

Oh madness by the waning sun
i twist about the haze of tall grass
suspecting, darling, you may be the one
with Whitman’s grizzled ass

Oh joy, beneath the frigid moon
I am the statue that always lies
beside the river with a silent tune
that is every star’s sweet sighs

We are the dance, the waltz that grates
flesh to dust, and dust to stone
We are the music, the crescendo of hates
balled up with lost trust until we’re alone

If every day becomes the apathetic rage
perhaps it best we stay inside love’s cage?

I do not shake my fist, or roll my eyes
I do not scream or whisper loudly
as I bang my elbows on my thighs
and swear in perfect meter proudly

I do not present a digit straightly
cast callous dispersions up the street
I only try to behave so stately
that even a nun might find me meet

So if my words come out as curses
or offend your senseless sensibilities
I’ll take a moment to craft some verses
accounting for your instabilities

Alas, It only takes a moment for me to swear
that you’re too much a fool me to bear