Unfinished Sonnet...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
I just can't rhythm and keep flow well enough for me to finish a sonnet. I don't think I've able been able to... Wait, I take that back. I have once.

Submitted: March 06, 2008

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Submitted: March 06, 2008

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So this blade in my hand tremble,
which rules over your life so fragile,
for the swift flick of my wrist is able,
to vanquish thy breath without struggle.
Thy fighting against flow of crimson steady tis futile,
tis whimsical and useless,
thine eyes grow dull as thy life bleed hence to a place benal.
Such a place is stained in everyone's mind no less,
and it is picture the same with clouds, all is pure and sinless.
What a place for thine eyes to drink down if such a place is,
a place so priceless,
for one may only see such a thing but ...


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