arcadian dreams

April 2016

an adapted sonnet from a God-inspired story 

In the summertime of my nineteenth year

A desperate breeze tossed the sleeping grove

And my toes, in great anguish, writhed in fear

For my feet were uncertain of their rove

The day of our love had turned to a dusk

Tears fell from the sky like a desert flood

Our purpose for conversation was brusque,

Words fell from our lips as shedded blood

But now our lives weave like threaded cotton

Intertwined paths, dust and mud collide here

The pain of our loss is now far forgotten

In the handshake of a prophetic seer

My feet now know the waltz of wander and trail

In the rite of love without a lost fail

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