Oh, quiet moments, simply put in threads of Golden Time I rest in flowing sweetness' arms of Yesterday's Delights. But give me hope, thou cursèd sands-- let part of Fate be mine Though cloaked close-girdled messengers should riddle all my nights! For in my days, I know my worth, I must of needs be heard By He whose ears do funnel all the verdicts home to close. Just grant me one small ray of life that I might in my word Begin to split the very grain of doubt that darkness shows. For I am calm. And in my calm is strength whose fibres wax As every second slips so poorly past its marking point. Submit, thou judgment passing, and admit the firmness lacks In that simple crude composite of Time's mortise-tenon joint. For time in futile pace of clear pusuit breeds but defeat Without its feathered dream whose floating hopes one day must meet.
Another in the classic iambic pentameter sonnet
format. My Birthday Poem to myself at Age 25...
Trauma'd fellow at this time, one might gather?...
That perhaps can defend its pedantic nature and overly dramatic phrasings from a few hundred years ago. But hey, I liked it at the time, and it is definitely a period piece of my poetry. So I leave it in .