With apologies for being unable to present a poem last week, (which was unusually busy for me), I present this, my final experiment with the Shakespearean form for this exploration. I'll continue exploring sonnets for a bit, however. I will most likely try composing only one or two sonnets in the other forms, (such as the Italian), as I don't wish to wear out sonnets in either my own mind, or in that of my readers. I imagine when in the future I come around to explore sonnets again after this cycle, I'll concentrate on a different form for the duration.
Yet for now, enjoy my final Shakespearean, or English sonnet of this exploration.
*
The morning after I have been with her
Is like a gutted homestead: void of life.
And all the wondrous things that did occur
Carved from my soul with a serrated knife.
The memory of being by her side
(Intoxicating as it was last night)
Today is nothing but a wish denied.
An admonition resting in plain sight.
"She mustn't love you, if she isn't here,"
So says my brain as I still lie in bed.
"The emptiness you feel should make it clear.
"The girl's affections? Only in your head."
But every evening with her that I spend
Removes the morning's anguish in the end.
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