Friday Sonnet: Monologue

Because I find a glance of yours can raze
Me to the ground, as though I were the corn
Or rye and you the mother of the storm,
I purse my lips and turn away my gaze,
And only let my speech unfold again
To discourse with that blank, that nothingness
Which poets, with their lyric twists, address.
It does not speak to me, it turns not when
I ask for comfort, to its face I told
That I’ve a world in me, and can’t assert
Its founding words, nor any of its gold...
And now I’m lost both ways and come inert,
For I can’t speak with you, and I can’t hold
My silence with you – without feeling hurt.