SONNET X

 

She calls everyone ‘‘honey’’ in a place
Where dreams are pickled so they can persist;
There are rumors of beauty in her face,
Disclosing days that were better than this.
As she tosses down her shots with a sniff,
her smile becomes noticeably swollen;
And she winks at me pretending as if
I could give back the years that were stolen.
And I thought of taking her out of here
As the drinks briefly robbed me of reason;
But her words are sandpaper in my ear,
Her pleated smile is an act of treason.
She looks like a couplet straining to rhyme . . .
But she must have been something in her prime.

Reviews

[The Archangel Gabriel]

That's great! I didn't think that anybody else still write sonnets! (Actually, I have found a few.)

If you want, I have a contest for "The Most Contorted Form" that still only has two entries. Everybody says that they want to compete, but I just don't see it for some reason!

You might want to check out my poem, "The Coming of God's Kingdom." It is trochaic pentameter, but it sounds a battle march! I think that is about right for the subject matter!

Great write!

-Gabe