Sonnet
In these tightly measured lines, beauty battles restraint. Sonnets hold the storm in their structure: aching truths stitched in meter and rhyme. This is form as confession, precision as power. Fourteen lines, infinite echoes.
When emotion obeys the rhythm.
Sparkling Emerald Eyes
your arms, like carved oak, protected me
When Blood Calls to the Moon
I strutted in the presence of Death
Bound in Darkness
blood spilled over the descending sun
The Devil’s Whisper
caused my life to vanish