Thursday, October 22, 2015

Sonnet: To Death

However often I have sewn my heart,
Enwrapped my flesh within the shroud you spread,
Like breath at birth is every needle’s dart,
Like birth is breathing till the nerves are dead.
Inside the veil, the warp and woof of steel
Secure me, soothing me to smooth my fears,
While binding those it cannot quite conceal
Into this web-work dulled by time and tears.
These threads have wound and woven with my veins,
However fast my blood can flee away;
Immersed, they wear my life like fading stains,
No dyes absorbing, never more to fray.
     My pulse: the dangling thread that pulls me on,

     Entwining me until the thread is gone.