Sonnet 12


Sonnet 12

She is the eternal cruellest mistress,
Stealing You away second by second,
Never to return (or so it’s reckoned)
She cares not a bit for Your Heart’s Distress,
As She robs You blind and just leaves regrets,
Turning Your Soul into something wizened,
She creeps around like a vanishing brigand,
Death, sorrow and angst is all She begets,
Except when She’s in a generous mood,
Moments with a Lover never finished,
Seconds like minutes like hours like days,
Is she playing You like an old Étude?
“Song for Heartstring in A# diminished”
Are You the instrument that cruel Time plays??


Sonnet by Martin G. King
Image sourced on Google Images


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