muneca73Member of the BearClan Family's blog: "Poetry, Prose and Lit that hits me deep!"

I remember the first time I read this poem and realized that it defined to me what love should be. Sonnet CXVI (116)-William Shakespeare Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

I thought I saw a shooting star tonite passing quickly in the inky sky, but then I blinked-it disappeared, soon after, I began to cry. I fold myself within soft walls, as I hear his voice begin to sing and so I sink beneath the world, because I feel that familiar sting. I rise above the frigid ground, twisting and writhing out of night and so I wake to that warm glow, stretching and reaching towards your light. And there I lay so content because your embrace fills my empty void, but then you change the tune you’ve sung, seeking a newer life to destroy. If my blinking past tears were like this abyss you left within me, then I would be washed away, drowned in your sea of apathy.

For those of you that don't read Roman Numerals I make sure I put the number in just for ya!! Sonnet 19 William Shakespeare XIX. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and all her fading sweets; But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; Him in thy course untainted do allow For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.