Lips, speaking her dream, with slightest parting.
Hope that flutter hearken not the waking clime
For her sleep soothes the vile day's grating.
She holds her chin and smiles vacantly so,
The rising taut of a child's stomach, 'neath;
Soft hands curled around undrawn trust's core
I wish that were my fingers they sheathed.
I beg my mind to not clang its way in
And remind me of the wicked wrongs she'd done
For this moment is all that shall stay within
A shattered soul by this sleeping woman.
She stirs, I turn, into her her self seeps
'Tis sad in waking, an angel must sleep.
A simple and beautiful sonnet! Unlike your usual complex ornamental ones, this seems to fount from basic sincerity of heartfelt emotions. But, again, I suppose, you will escape saying that all is non-personal in this blog ;-)...So be it. So be it.
ReplyDelete#I think that the first line of the couplet
'She stirs, I turn, into her her self seeps'
could better be written as
'She stirs, I turn, into herself she seeps'
Anyway, you are the master :-)! There seems to be a bout of creativity in your blog nowadays which is heartening. Keep it up.
Very moving..
ReplyDeleteawww beautiful it is!
ReplyDeleteneat blog....like it :)
happy living