three
Sonnet No. 3 March 28, 2005
Oft reflection is not kind in the midst of melancholy bound,
For soft moments for the nonce, wrist the eye's inherent door.
Still, a treaded travel binds missed memory that complexion found
A doleful, cleft spell, spent deserted, only tense led told past can store.
Moor'd tandem in a sense, and more parenthetical anent, since drought ceded lore
The downcast gaze wrought-up divalent days, which halved in creases worn
Like leaves left covering, hitherto hovering, wake above a sidewalk floor,
Whereupon fallin deaf, poured well a gloss, sought to salve lamentation borne.
Cloudless skies tone carpeted dyes, while April bathes the thrush that flies
Through threshold's curved colorless scene, shade brown blue, severed chaff.
Locks, the guise of pluvial ties, never hushes curbed those cloistered cries
From films, before tear's air blush reappear, reel pled sigh's pixelated draft.
And so low solo, hearts rescind, sent both tier passed more out than in,
Whence dust cleared blurs now more, than then.
--kd
These three sonnets were written during the two years prior to getting sober.
They don't inspire me, but seem to remind me of how dark the days actually were.
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