Sonnet 41
To my eyes that befriends assumptions art,
Of seeing what the mind wants me to see,
Blink now and tell me that my lover's heart,
Will not wander and walk away from me.
Bitter beyond beliefs, her heart I blame,
Of breathing thoughts; romance with other men.
Giving my all, gambling this guilty game...
A sin with-in I'll never seem to win.
Flowers of April showers fall to grass,
As franticly I frown myself the fool.
Yet after years would grow upon the glass,
She would reveal her dark unfaithful wool.
Now numb and void, I always will perceive,
To be or not to be what I believe.
Copyright © Johnny Sumler | Year Posted 2012
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