Without My Heart

I’m going somewhere all alone, without

my hat or coat or heart.  You laugh, but soon

the easy times will part to bring about

the numb decay that flaunts a dark maroon

and pea-soup coloured vest.  If I could stop

the wailing drips that fall from clocks of time,

or clean the stains of blood—put every drop

in line, this proud old heart I’d claim as mine.

But if one man could fix a world of broken

and helpless bricks, his pride would surely freeze

the windings of his heart that pity had woken.

So I have left my heart behind.  The pleas

of pain I cannot heal.  And now in true

humility I pray my god renew.






And that there is my third attempt at a shakespearian sonnet.

The End

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