Sonnet

Dedicated to the master of the form, Sir W. And to a recent memory.

Thinking about Love

It strikes deep but with muted pain
Until, evulsed, it leaves the savaged heart,
Disemboweled of wisdom and possessed again,
By a reckless lust for its lethal shaft.

Secured, it invites the attentions of reason -
Burrowing in vain, through its endless tunnel.
But when it rumbles, weary of the investigation,
Muddy and muddled emerges, reason’s shovel.

Memories strung across its tortuous train,
Sparkle with pearls of laughter and ecstasy.
And others of lustre ordinary, fester in pain.
Bitter, but milder by far, than derailed love’s agony.

Foolish is prudence for damming its torrents, unaware
Of the flood waiting, for the levee to burst in despair.

Version 1.1

New. Hopefully, improved...

Thinking about Love

It strikes deep, but stifles its sting
Until expelled by the apostate heart
And conceited wisdom, in concert inviting,
The bloody vengeance of the uprooted shaft.

Secured, it attracts, the attentions of reason -
Burrowing in vain, through its endless tunnel.
But when it rumbles, weary of the investigation,
Muddy and muddled emerges, reason’s shovel.

Memories strung across its tortuous train,
Sparkle with pearls of laughter and ecstasy.
And others of lustre ordinary, fester in pain.
Bitter, but gentler by far, than derailed love’s agony.

Foolish is prudence for damming its torrents, unaware
Of the flood waiting, for the levee to burst in despair.