Perhaps this star is setting. Light returns
into the void. The end of everything
will come eventually — and I will sleep
like hours into sand. A river flows
into uncertain sound — cacophony?
I cannot promise where this road will lead
but only that the silence rises up,
an aching music echoes in the cup
so hallowed of my heart: too tired to bleed
but even in its dimming, yearning, free?
I couldn’t say: and no one truly knows
if God is held to promises they speak
or do we flutter, lonely on a wing
to seek the little light left as it churns?
i wanted to try something new with this sonnet. i wanted the rhyme scheme to still be present while being as unobsequious as possible. It isn’t perfect (it rarely ever is), but I was going for a scheme of