A Personal Sonnet Quartet
by scott from jail

The tangled mass of hair left over here
Or there, unburdened on the bathroom shelf
A caustic tribute to another self,
A small reminder, something turned to fear -
The brush, the comb, the modeled space of life
Comes down to this: she's gone and won't be back
Like me, a life to choose another track
Both wounded by a bloody kind of strife -
This gaping war that covers all remorse
That deaths its way each day to something new
No more the truly borrowed, old or blue,
Just changing colors of a different horse -
  To not know why, to see it all dissolve,
  To fade to grey without the last resolve...

These days stretch slowly, slowly, one by one,
Til dusk seeps into winter's careful hand,
A crimson silence on a misty sun
Beyond the hills of snow and ice and land.
The leaves are covered now in white and grey,
A tattered brown and black mark where they fell,
Now severed from the summer's shadowplay,
The springtime's green, the autumn's windy shell.
Yet burns here fire, which, brightening the night,
Waves heat and sunshine to this quiet home
Of comfort, friends and instantaneous flight,
Where welcomed each imagining may roam.
  And here sings music, like a little pond
  To bless, to free the iron sky beyond.

Tonight the starlight gently breathes in snow
And through a straw breathes out the willow tree
With night-black ink of laced insanity,
Stitched crystalines in pathologic row.
The shadowmusic of the blowing pines
Bends slightly, nodding, like a drunken cloud
To listen, stare, but never mark aloud
Which dreamer stalks horizons or inclines.
The tracks of cats or rats or fat raccoons
Etch blinks into the incandescent white,
Small secrets of their mirror feet of light
While stealing from the midnight and the moon.
  Here is the window scene, my little sky
  Which, like a witch's coven ride, goes by.

Today she leaves, and victory is here!
Upon the wings of ravens, off she flies
Into the great apothecary skies -
Impervious delusion, clean and clear.
Around her head lay all the wreaths of green
To deck her future, fatherless no more
While waits beyond the dark, fantastic shore
Of something new, impossible, unseen.
  No more coccoon, the butterfly is out
  To grace, to laugh, to murmur and to dance,
  To greet the sun and all its dawning rays,
  To smile as humankind goes round about
  And greet each new adventure with a glance
  Of he who loves her timeless and always.

Copyright © 2011 - scott from jail
Published: 6/2/11   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem