This week is SONNETS. I can’t say that I hated writing in this form, definitely a lot to explore within the tight structure. Here is one of my very many attempts. My book of Shakespeare sonnets aided me greatly in this process.
No scrapers that we build to touch the sky
will help us change the stars or mend their moving.
There is no theorem that we could apply
to make the fates in our favor improving.
No longer do we tread the same raw earth,
our puzzle pieces have moved far away,
silent is the spring that was your mirth,
cadences are lost and slip astray.
On the edge we stand two times apart,
your moon and mine wear very different faces.
See all my failings as I try to chart
their waxing and their waning kind of phases.
No science could explain our separation,
no stars and satellites, this love’s cessation.