Sonnet 3

With time intent on his forever dance,

deftly stole I from him by slightest hand,

in a fleeting pause of conceded chance

moments of a beauty both rare and grand.

I saw a single ray of purest light

pierce a crystal glass droplet as it fell,

and become a lonely tear lost at night,

a vestige of false love’s now broken spell.

I watched the sharp life bloom of Springtime

and heard I a thousand strange voices sing,

many unknown songs with a single rhyme

and the rhythmic beat of a Blackbird’s wing.

Yet poisoned is the chalice I did steal,

for hidden is knowing what is now real.

7 thoughts on “SONNET 3

      1. You’re very welcome. Sonnets always scared me but the more I write them (actually just finished part of one minutes ago), the less anxious I feel about them. I’m pretty sure I don’t have iambic pentameter down. It’s enough just to get the syllable count and rhyme scheme. I tend to give everything a title, but I can see where not having one can be freeing.


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