SONNET II

 

All that I once loved, I now seem to hate!
What once seemed to be pure now seems defiled!
I am listless, loveless, disconsolate;
And I feel like fortune's aborted child.
I pray for something in which to believe,
Some sense of hope to slay my misgiving.
But there is nothing to which I can cleave ––
Hope is a notion meant for the living.
And the spring offers no comfort at all!
I yearn for kind words concealed in her touch.
But she's as cold as the showers that fall;
In truth, her words never cheered me that much.
And I wonder how I'll face one more day,
Gasping in the pollen-soaked air of May.

Reviews

[The Archangel Gabriel]

Doesn't line 4 have 11 syllables? Chi-uhld? What about line 2?

I still like it. It is not all about syllable counting!

-Gabe