0243 The Sonnet
Why is this sonnet form so dear to me?
this silent cloister of the singing heart
where I may be myself in sanctity
yet meet beloved strangers there in art;
a shape like some great arch across the world
where every word has music in its sound;
a place like prayer, inner maze uncurled
to find a pattern in that measured ground;
a conversation with tomorrow's friends
of all we know but seldom talk about;
a haven in a time that never ends;
a love that's now a whisper, now a shout;
- to final couplet, falling heaven-blest
to stillness, in that space where all things rest.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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