When I’m away from you I’m lost in grief,
A grief stretching on to greater sorrow;
Whether mean or kind, the world’s a thief,
The prize, you, a prize more prized tomorrow.
With each degree of intimacy barred,
All thoughts are pain, all feelings, sorrow.
Everything that I once loved is marred,
A bright past accusing a dark tomorrow.
Where are you? You are there, reading this,
Which is, for reasons given, closed to you;
Pointless, then, this poem, for pointless all my bliss.
Nothing in poems can tell us what is true.
Loving thoughts burn into the smoke of speech
Which hides a love no song of love can reach.

1 Comment

  1. drew said,

    January 3, 2014 at 9:16 pm

    Makes me want to smoke my pipe…
    like all good sonnets do.

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