The Sonnet Project: Sonnet # 10
my mother is as bent as olive trees
when on her back she sleeps before the moon
her eyes as muddy as her wobble knees
Send god it well, for leaves she us now soon.
The night is windowless as death’s embrace
Against an endless skyward eye that calls
The maidens, who, like sailors after chase,
this lover who destroys all saddened falls,
can heal the hole that wounds my aching heart
for mother’s lost, my life of freedom’s lost.
From her, oh joy, i cannot be apart
to once again find love, what is the cost?
oh lover, take thy herb and sugar cure
and feed to me of what I can endure.
Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry
Golden Star Poetry 