Sonnet #25 – on rediscovering the ability to love after tragedy. To fail to feel again would be to become a zombie.
I held my heart in my own hand and stood
With empty chest and thoughtless empty head
I lost a war I never fought, and would
Have rather finalized this life in death
But you, O Love, are cruel and plunged your hand
into my throbbing breast and ripped out heart
and soul, and love, and hope, and joy, and then
left me to stare in hand at broken parts
Yet now, I dare to place this heart into
this blank compartment oversized by stress
For even pain declares divine renew’l
This throbbing is my life blood’s vital press
and I would rather hurt than live a slave
emotionless, a zombie from the grave
First of a series of Shakespearean sonnets: rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg with strong Volta at line 9
Phil Wyman: Dim Saesneg 