J. I. Thomas F. Poet Sonnet

The Architect

So soft, the light of candles, dancing on the darkened walls.
I pace, and my step echoes, throughout these ancient halls. 
Dust has grown so fine and thick that I walk in a haze.
What would my sight do anyway, within this lonely maze?

I can’t escape the edifice, for in a weakened state,
its architect neglected to provide it with a gate.
Such fanciful design—soaring stairs and chandeliers!
Made by one who chased his dreams and flew above his fears. 

Now I stride most every night, within this lonely place,
thinking of his foolishness, the weight of his disgrace.
His motive was to win her, and he built without his eyes,
thinking she was with him; imagine his surprise.

I’m locked within this wondrous trap that should have set me free.
A prisoner by my own hand—the architect was me!

29 April 2016

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