“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label Shakespeare Sonnet 116. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shakespeare Sonnet 116. Show all posts
Saturday, February 7, 2015
The value of depreciation
Deny that we are better whole
For love is loss! Sacrifice is loss!
All the giving takes its' toll,
gambling on return, a coin of toss.
Tho' loves worth the investment-
it does yield a return.
Albeit, a candied sentiment
made of sweet words we learn.
O how do we know its true,
Not counterfeit in kind?
All love that 'tis shiny and new
in growing time goes blind.
For spotting true love there are no glasses,
But lo when you're not e'en looking, that love surely passes!
Image Published by D. McKay, Philadelphia (http://archive.org/details/talesfromshakesp00lamb3) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "Tales from Shakespeare" by Charles and Mary Lamb, 1922.
*Inspired by Shakespeare, 1564-1616 (who isn't?) "Sonnet 116"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...