Stabs at Sonnet #3
A something grovels underneath my bed,
And gropes, afraid, as moth in final flail,
A monster? Nay, for births it no more dread
Than train of ant evokes in cavalcade.
I have my nose in sundry stenches steeped,
And now I'm deep in wonderment interred,
For what the stupefying something reeks,
Is waif of every fragrance I have loved.
A touch of teak; a whiff of saffron blessed,
And parchment, plum, and book by thousands thumbed,
All here one moment, gone the dismal next,
As pimple ripe, to wrinkle raw succumbed;
This curious force, if anything, describes,
My fear to live, and luring urge to write.
~•■•~
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Poetry[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
