A sonnet

• Artist: Sluty Black Bird
• Description: This poem was written as a class assignment, and the inspiration came from the first line, which popped in my head as though someone else were trying to tell their story through me. Though written in first person, the speaker is a character other than myself. I found in writing the poem, however, that I was able to push away some of my own depression as I lost myself in the speaker's lonelier existence.
• Date: 02/22/2010
• Tags: sonnet

Was I bewitched so by the thin red line
To notice not that time released its hold
And let pale Iris snip the silver twine
To steal sweet youth before it turned to gold.
Existence now is not what I was told;
No seraphim and harps to grace my ear,
Just silence, painful silence, and the cold
Discomfort of my masochistic fear,
So icy cold, yet somehow seems to sear
My soul until the ache's too much to bare,
As mortal life mirages now appear:
Intangible are they; away they tear.
Mistake, it was; the curtain fell too soon
When razor's edge did charm me like the moon