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Smitten He was smitten with love for her; by that arrow deep and sure. A gooey warmth between them; filling the heart all within. But, loves shaft, festered, stinking foul; to gangrenous, aching howl. Through steamy glass his love moaned; as he stood outside alone. Those barbs cannot be reversed; holding fast in a soul feeling cursed. Longing for the lost one gone, to the breast of a different one. Love hates separating pain; so forgives again and again.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 10/14/2017 10:28:00 PM
I can relate to this. This is actually a really good modern sonnet!
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