john_silver
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Saturday Sonnet: Little Proverb
If there’s a name for you, it is pronounced In whispers, in a tongue we speak no more; A tongue that’s only used to write the lore Of sacred things, and books of past accounts.
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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,
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- 543 reads
Tuesday Sonnet: Immortality
“When I am gone, I shall not be the dust That licks your soles beneath your steps wind-borne, Nor yet the thread of ash that, shorn of lust And reason, trails the mantle of the storm;
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Monday Sonnet: Hope
I’m asked to write of hope, a subject which Resists festoons of metaphor with almost The same propriety as death. Foremost Among the skills that make a poet rich
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Sunday Sonnet: To the girl who smiled
Here in these streets of judges and police Where we unlace the textiles of our days, I used to search you in the tales from Greece Which speak across the eons, phrase by phrase,
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