I bleed, but not the crimson hue of blood, though scarlet are my wounds as they are read; each painful cut I make lets loose a flood of words aflame too quickly from lips sped. And through the pen that draws my breath from me on currents bold my soul is thus laid bare, and flows the spirit that I must set free ‘midst loving thoughts issued with hopeful pray’r. I’m weary and have lost myself to this, and fear my own immortal soul unsaved, but for a heart receiving simple gifts an end I might know to the poet’s pain. And in my scars my soul’s revealed – but for my pen, my heart would e’er be sealed.
Ok I don’t want to seem insincere or weird, but you are my new favorite poet! I can literally feel your emotion throbbing from the page…beautiful!
Thanks. I’m not really comfortable with the sonnet form, only having tried it a handful of times, but I think it gets a little better each time. I enjoy reading your work too. 🙂
I’m not brave enough to try writing a sonnet lol