Sonnet IIA Poem by the writer of woeOne of my sonnets.
I feel the pain of the new rising sun
I take hold of the new founding embrace The mockery and insults, are they one? Not one, but many have shed on my face A disgusting ritual of taking Leaves us but one, a hole of emptiness Taking from me, taking and then breaking Though there is no light that shines away bliss We feed on insults, on suffering love We feed on our brothers and our sisters We feed on the nothings from god above But we purge on the scars and the blisters The fire that burns within surely burns off As we boil away in our world's steamed broth. © 2015 the writer of woeAuthor's Note
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9 Reviews Added on March 12, 2015 Last Updated on March 12, 2015 Tags: sonnet, Shakespearean, hatred Author
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