Shakespeare wrote sonnets to a lady dark
Taunting his love and coldly refusing
His eloquent longing. Still, I’ll embark
On a congruent task of enthusing
Over ice queens parading above me
As I struggle in heated battle with
Twining lines of convulsing snakes busy
Escaping being pinned to paper myths.
Revering women is a poet’s job
Not fit for muscle. I employ matter
Gray with long nights far from teeming mobs
Marching off cliffs. Cattle go to slaughter
Ignorantly, but I’ll meet impending
Annihilation, perfection chasing.
No comments:
Post a Comment