Tuesday, September 11, 2012

sonnet two hundred eighteen

i sing to the glazed, red
hues of the clouds soaked
by the sun, and see
the impatient wind

hum and hover above
the truest of truths -
daunted by the alpha
aspiring punctuations

married to the epic
that is our onset
and our end -

and the ceaseless
understanding and
fear that lies in between.

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