Sonnet V

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.

3 responses to “Sonnet V

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s