I dont write many sonnets. Its been done -
if well much, much too much to make it mine,
but this ones earned for staying up till one
with me, or later, never keeping time;
for moments earned at the closures of the days,
and passing, fleeting colours filled with words,
or words with colours; for finding novel ways
of letting years pass slowly into blurs;
for getting into Oxford, getting by
and sharing news, and laughing secretly
and holding together when we want to cry
and loving love, and late night poetry -
Ive never written sonnets, never done
a lot of tributes. But you can have this one.














Comments
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Never again. I needed to turf out the blighter, the beater or biter who'd come like lamb to the slaughter to Salome's bed.
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Never again. I needed to turf out the blighter, the beater or biter who'd come like lamb to the slaughter to Salome's bed.
Longtimenospeak.
I have short dark hair now
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"Why thank you, Princess Blatant."
And I know... I've been worried. How's things?
--
Never again. I needed to turf out the blighter, the beater or biter who'd come like lamb to the slaughter to Salome's bed.
I have a plan for the summer
PLAN.
*this is the part when you run away screaming saying "WORLD WATCH OUT ZAY HAS A PLAN"
--
"Why thank you, Princess Blatant."
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Any good graphic artists out there up for an illustration job?
But you're right, the last line wouldn't make sense if you have broken the sonnet form.
Is the belated request many blurred years past?
--
A wanderer in darkness, waiting for the misty morning fog
... and a deviant who returns comments ;]
-> If you comment me I'll comment back :]
My split personality:
=Ratafluke - Photography
~Nebelstreif - Poetry
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