A Medean Sonnet

Format of a holy sonnet.

 

The tragedy of a pounding heart,

Wretched by a human will
Rages unrelenting, never still,

Wrought in the name of art!

O mind of reason you do impart

Such sound intentions, until

A hole is left out of hollow chill

And icy hope falls apart.

O heart of passion you do incite

Such a scorching drive

To preserve what has remained alive

Through the burning heat of light.

And when all is lost to recognition,

What remains is apparition...

Reviews

[Legion]

A wonderful write. I love that resounding echo of that last line in comparison with the rest of the work. Kudos.