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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1788859
An old attempt at a sonnet, sorry to insult any fans of the form
If juvenile eyes established a truth-
Ful way to hide deceit, I would withhold
From you, this wish I granted. T’was my youth,
To dwell in peace, I took, signed, sealed and sold.
Linger there on telephones, and wait with
Your enemy, for in a child’s voice
Lies a hateful tone. I loudly berate
My doleful woes, you do not dare rejoice.
You disappeared whilst your foe gave her life
To nurture the fruit you forgot, deprived.
The ultimatums disguised in her strife
To take her side, where I stand to survive.
But to my pillow, secrets spill my soul,
The linen holds what you shall never know.



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