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Sonnet No. 8
I sing a tune more solemn than the death
That seems to lie in wait for me. It haunts
Me—day and night. I feel, in every breath
I take, its presence—it's too much! It taunts
Me with the sweet release it offers me,
But—knowing, all too well, its clever tricks—
I stand, alone before oblivion's sea,
And I ignore the drowning pains. I mix,
In every breath, the salty air with words
I haven't spoken in so long, and that
I haven't heard in longer. All the birds
Have fled the lifeless sky—so dark and matte.
I think, in every breath I take, I die.
While I'm alive, there's not yet need to cry.
© Emilia Perseo Samuel Gaspar
#sonnet
That seems to lie in wait for me. It haunts
Me—day and night. I feel, in every breath
I take, its presence—it's too much! It taunts
Me with the sweet release it offers me,
But—knowing, all too well, its clever tricks—
I stand, alone before oblivion's sea,
And I ignore the drowning pains. I mix,
In every breath, the salty air with words
I haven't spoken in so long, and that
I haven't heard in longer. All the birds
Have fled the lifeless sky—so dark and matte.
I think, in every breath I take, I die.
While I'm alive, there's not yet need to cry.
© Emilia Perseo Samuel Gaspar
#sonnet
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