by Gideon Burton
an imitation of Shakespeare's sonnet #30 (below)
The memory is not so dear a friend.
What's passed, not past, but scoring fresh the skin
of tender thoughts, disquieted and bent
to know the present scabs to be so thin.
For I have laughed with friends who now are mute
and wasted in the greedy earth. However close,
receding, sinking down beyond the roots,
beyond the teary mist that from me flows.
And I have mourned, not only for their passing,
but that I let a moment's hesitation
divert me from forgiveness I was asking.
There might have been a reconciliation.
And yet one friend I brazenly did seek,
who brings me back from reveries so bleak.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License. Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Lohb is back...