Regretful stance in essence of whispered tombs.

( The Italian Sonnet. )

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My dearest, I do not forget your name
or whispered promises, tomorrow’s breeze
carries still your message, stand tall, fly free,
ageless spirit unburden fickle shame.
Resistance, for wild souls remain untamed.
Allow never again this heart to freeze
To love in abandoned hues will appease
lost embers of oceans eternal flames.
Yet, I feel the drumming echo of fear
pure porcelain pieces scattered across
the floor, vulnerability so near.
To not give is such a regretful loss
awakened I search the celestial sphere
for regret, is too much a haunting cost.

 

Karen Hayward* ©2017

Image and words