Ingrained upon my heart, you are my muse,
And love like yours has ever been my need;
Upon your lips, the songbird sang and flew,
And now I am consumed with passion's greed.
A butterfly, a waterfall nor spring
Can quite bequeath its beauty on my eyes,
For I have seen you soar on angel's wings:
Compared to yours, all beauty wilts and dies.
Perhaps a love can be too over pure -
The land around becoming less profuse.
Perchance, I fall for beauty more demure,
I then shall serve the world with less abuse.
A perfect line is straight until the end,
But beauty comes upon the river's bend.
Sorry Ben, I dropped a like on this the other day and thought I had written a comment too. Your poems always have a Shakespearean feel to them. Majestic and regal and full of delightful metaphors. This as always is beautifully written. Milly x
Ben, maybe i'm having deja vous with your lovely sonnet. I am sure i have read this before, but you have so many- just familiar as if you did i would of liked as much then too.
Wonderful sonnet fella anyway :)
I know when I see a sonnet written by you, I'm going to be pleased.
I am very pleased with this. Not just the technical brilliance, but the content too. Love is random and does not conform to set guidance. This is so true and means the message is a wise one.
Glad to see this nominated as it certainly deserves the front page next week.