Bereft

I’ve sated them on sonnets succulent and wonder now just where the hell they went familiarity – it breeds contempt abandons me to keyboard – passion spent My muse, in mourning black, wanders forlorn a naked sheep unknowingly full shorn sits shivering, alone, awaiting dawn befuddled by her role as writing’s pawn She scans the distant fields for those who left protects the gentle soul they left bereft of wooly words – of phrases - to console lost lovers in a world they can’t control Ah poetry, the marrow of my bones your words the subtle mantra of its tones ©7/12/2018 for Abandon2 – Poetry Contest sponsor – Brenda Chiri Super Sonnet Premium Contest John Hamilton