Whilst in the Fiction of Skeletal Measures

When lost within my gazing time,

Still I stare, though you, you burnt light,

bound to be delicate, decadent is thine

To be of dust and guitars, did he even fight?

Sense from scents familiar, I manifest

of land, of root, of dripping, now of hand-me-down

The grip of said pencil, you wrote next.

Just wading in eyes of brown

My mouth, spilling, hypocrisies

step past petty time, seconds are triggering,

ever, for never, stealing my lies,

I said, she will not stop, if she is in the ring.

For together, we lock in presence, daze,

Can see an exit, but I am stuck in a maze.

^ Interpretation is nice. Yes, I can only imitate, but I can also do this n’ appreciate !!!

HAPPY FRYDAY, Y’ALL

Sonnet 106: When in the Chronicle of Wasted Time- W. Shakespeare, duh.

When in the chronicle of wasted time A

I see descriptions of the fairest wights, B

And beauty making beautiful old rhyme A

In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, B

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best, C

Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, D

I see their antique pen would have express’d C

Even such a beauty as you master now. D

So all their praises are but prophecies E

Of this our time, all you prefiguring; F

And, for they look’d but with divining eyes, E

They had not skill enough your worth to sing: F

For we, which now behold these present days, G

Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. G

*not my pic, but dank, nonetheless