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Click here(for Angeline and our mutual drug)
As sweet angelic pyre illumes the night
With echoes' ringing phrase and breaths so cool,
I might believe a Queen has called her fool
For shallow is my brain that sees their height.
For none has felt their song and left unstirred
The tremors brought by cold or knees or heart.
It's burning scalds the soul to scar the art --
This jumping, fleeting passion I've once heard.
Three conversations bled tonight as one
To lay foundations deep within my breast
That hip nor hop could pound like fervent pest
Its seed that grows to bloom inside undone.
Forever changed, my soul cries out for "MORE!"
Thy willing jar will syncopate -- please pour.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 39,000 poems.
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I keep rereading this and think, never will I be able to write as beautiful as this.
....to feel inadequate - like I do right now - because it makes one want to reach higher. I'm not sure how to comment other than I think this is a beautiful poem.
my dear friend. I understand exactly what you're saying, and I'm moved that you understand exactly. Our imperfect lives and pain somehow become grand and beautiful through the expression of art--something we both hear in jazz. What skill to write this form so intelligently and with such gracefully metaphoric expression. xo, Ange
You write a sonnet with such ease and it's apparent with each one you write. It amazes me how effortless it is for you. But that's why your sonnets are so wonderful and not a single line sounds forced.