Shakespeare has always had my admiration, but he’s earned some extra kudos today, in the wake of my painstaking attempt at writing a traditional English sonnet… (with the theme of Future and some chiasmus thrown in for good measure)
Thaw.
From shadows uncertain, a wreck you hauled
In spite of the grave that shrouded the eye.
It bore through the teeth so time further stalled
As it tore though the bones whilst age went by.
When twenty summers did soften the ill,
And firm dissolved what had dug so intent.
That which was irksome now deadened the chill
with which the preface of life you had spent.
I remember the rain had fallen sharp,
The streets cast their echoes with sombre dew.
Your fingers, ice as they prised mine apart,
yet temperate shards pierced the bitter I knew.
The ice within is hereafter thawing,
Warming the fire as the fire is warming.
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