From all the promises I've failed of you,
There strewn up by webs hanging from my heart,
While threads held together and broke apart
Until my mask and face are worn with rue.
Your hair drifting down; lost, limp, and lifeless
From my blood of curse and Widow's poision.
A taste of which you'd die and die again
In passing on through your lips with a kiss.
Left within the remnant of a nightmare,
To watch your skin and eyes turn pallidly
And then take your hand in mine timidly,
Wretched to a death that's writ by Goblin's dare.
But while the reaper's bell is rung three times,
The blissful grace you've left is still with me.
YOU ARE READING
Sonnets
PoetryThese are some sonnets that I've written. Some are English (Shakespearean Sonnets), some are Italian Sonnets, and some are modified. They all have 14 lines, ten syllables in each line and hopefully a near iambic pentameter.
