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Click hereThe day broke over your eyes, fluttered near
thick lashed, the iris leaf circled in bark.
I smiled upon your mouth full laughing, dear,
kissing the blood of lips against the spark
of dawn. This is how we wake, and thus begin
anew the path leading away from then
and how it was and what will be to win
nothing from her or him but start again,
believe that something pure can be exchanged
within the breath of hope awakened now
in battered souls that here are rearranged
from what once was, reshaped by questions. How
love do we know which way to go or be?
It matters not; our world is rich. Wait. See.
Continuing / I read the third Anew three times / to feel the ease of it's meaning and beauty / and yet I know I must revist all three / for there is unfinished mining here / that needs doing as I work to unearth / the unknowns that these three still have power to shape / / /
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,000 poems.
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As I read it, I kept asking myself, "Why did she break there... why not here... why did she break here... why not there... Oh! I get it... duh, it's a sonnet!"
Shakespeare and Browning were devilishly clever with this form. I suggest they make a little room on their park bench!
i already told you the effect this had on me.
it had the same effect this time too
lovely words hun!
that this was a sonnet. It's so smooth that the form was almost unnoticeable.
Was there an Anew I and II? I'll have to go look for them.
*No longer using the thermometer.
...well worded and framed -- and the message is so developed and concrete. Terrific poetry.