A year's worth of poems, every week for 52 weeks, spanning 2023 and 2024, plus the year following, from August 2024 to August 2025.(provided I live that long, of course).
Thank you, Allan Charles. I've contested the Charlie Chaplin thing a couple of times, won once, if I remember correctly. But it's the kind of thing I try when bored and have nothing better to do - just doesn't seem to have happened lately.
And so great Death hangs dark upon us all,
The foreseen stop that ends our tallied days,
And heed we clear that final sounding call
To say farewell to sun’s departing rays.
So black the night that falls upon that day,
No news escapes to speak of what it holds,
And time may last or fritter right away;
Death’s cloak still hides such secrets in its folds.
Thus doom reigns grim on our benighted selves,
This passing of the things that we hold dear,
Attendant now upon our mem’ries’ shelves;
We turn to face the darkest of our fears.
Yet life itself was always bound to fall;
What follows may be greatest of it all.
Line count: 14
Form: Sonnet - 14 lines, 10 syllables per line, rhymed abab cdcd efef gg, three quatrains and a couplet, this last being a volta!
For Promptly Poetry Challenge, Week 32 2024
Prompt: Write a sonnet.
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