SONNET 108
Ghost-made of this antechamber's ebony world,
Mellow by lightwaves and meteors know belov'd
Beethoven, to know your majesty, as I've whirled
In yours, wherever you are, in your gilded trove.
Entrenched once power in all directions come 'bove
If want of love is essence wait, must love be solved
Itself the wait, status sky come there atlases hove'.
But guilt 'twas all's, the scepter torched red hot expunged
Onto skin. But damnable true's to others shove
Whose only. Regret was quietest as fireflies
who lie cusped distances in blackest tints did roughed
When't spread, creating this horizon cooled and rife
Like candlewax once was, composing poets, night,
And Beethoven, 'mong those tattered pools crossing light.
