Sonnet 17


I cannot stop the screaming deep inside,
You know in me a Poets Heart does beat…
That isn’t just a soulless lump of meat
I served to You still raw and warm, now fried
and burnt and torn and scarred and sorely tried
and charred to cinders on Rejections heat.
A part of me has died due to this feat,
this careless, thoughtless act. I cannot hide
behind a wall of silence any more,
the beauty You inspired in me is now
alike unto a whisper on the wind.
I’ll pour myself in this abyss no more,
this grieving that I feel I’ll not allow
to live in me, so You I now exscind.


© 2014 Martin G. King
Image sourced from Google Images


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