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November

2023-11-25, post № 280

poetry, #sonnet

Early, fleeting rays of sunlight gave way
to desolation grave, whole and proper:
what was presumed a mediocre day
began with ‘games’ gone awry and nowhere.
Having fled the scene quite crudely, swiftly,
November’s wet tears held me in stasis.
Of mere minutes; I sighed regrettably.
Thru cold winds I trudged to work, if remiss.
Empty faces were all I saw: blank, void.
It seemed time had left me, dug a vast rut.
Does salvation come to those who have toyed
with fin, the fiercest one of any cut?
A trembling kept me ’wake for far too long
for I detest what only will prolong.
Jonathan Frech's blog; built 2024/03/02 23:28:29 CET