Anew

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

First sonnet. Not good.

Alive and well, but paranoid and lost.
I come and sit on hills of gentle green
To think, to dream, to yearn for what I’ve been.
To bring me brilliant faith, a Pentecost—
Alive and well, unknowing of the cost,
My fear would bring to us, to make you keen,
To understand the vitriol you’ve seen.
To try to warm this heart of winter frost.
 
 Your golden gracious light: it conquers me!
Your shining lips, so tender and so new,
Your darkened falls of spun and reeling mercy,
And your starlit eyes:  all of this anew—
My failing mind, my outside frozen body,
You wake me with your sprinkling of dew.
 
 


Submitted: July 11, 2008

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