Phil Wyman: Dim Saesneg

Sonnet #3

A hidden yearning beats the breasts of souls
like turning upon disconsolate graves
with dark discomforting a-rhythmic flows
A counterpoint which leaves the heart enslaved

Are we the living dead? Embalmed, prepared
for death? While singing songs we wrote for love
We played a song we did not know and erred
and missed a love, which whispers from above

From Augustine and Solomon we learned
our passions proved a far more potent foe
the love we sought was not the love we yearned
The joy we found was not a joy but woe

Sarcophagus below – our song, a dirge
Cacophony above, until we merge