Sonnet



For two weeks under fever I have groaned
Straining to harness this deceitful verse;
Have felt the very earth beneath me moan
Crushed by the heaving burden of my curse.
Dread warms of broken souls around me creep
Held frothingly at bay by maddening fire
We turn and gaze, awestruck, into the deep
Where centuries of lonely men suspire.
My dreams, alive, (yet senseless) rise and turn;
Shriek for love's pain; are whipped into a trance;
Lurch through the valleys of my heart and burn
Upon me in a dark and wistful dance.
And resting here, perplexed at what to do,
I slip into the dusk thinking of you.